


The Ties That Bind

by beederiffic



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aliens, Angst, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Forced Marriage, Illnesses, Imprisonment, M/M, Mission Fic, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 75,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beederiffic/pseuds/beederiffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise crew makes contact with a planet where an all-male society thinks they're sexual catnip, and decides to keep and marry them all against their will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awarrington](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awarrington/gifts).



> There will be imprisonment and forced marriage – This is not rape fic, there will be no forced sex, but there will be some dubious consent issues. Also gratuitous accents.

“So, we've established what we don't know about Ping, which is a lot.” I rub my thumbs into my eyes and try to straighten up in my chair, aware I've started slumping out of mind-numbing ennui. Who knew learning about a planet called Ping could be so totally tedious? “What do we know?”

“Ze planet's only inhabited landmass is wolcanic in origin, resulting in mountainous terrain, grasslands, rainforest and barren rock. Zheir climate is primarily tropical. Population, two hundred million, but zere does not appear to be any indication of ciwilization, no cities or apparent dwellings on ze planet's surface. Zhey are technologically advanced but haven't yet deweloped warp capability zat as we can confirm. Ozzer zhan zat,” Chekov shrugs at me apologetically. “Zere is wery little. Zhey coexist peacefully viz zheir neighbors and maintain some interplanetary trade in mining technology and mineral ore, but so far zhey have declined any Federation contact, and have a reputation for waluing privacy.”

“Thanks.” I nod at him, then look over to my right. “Spock? Any thoughts?”

Spock's calmly observing the display panel as he looks over the ship's long-range sensor readings. “Their continent's landmass contains sizeable calcified tritanium deposits in number and mass that are unmatched in Federation territory. Given the Federation-wide –”

I figure out where his thoughts are heading. “ – Shortage of tritanium for engineering nanotechnology . . . yeah, you're right. Good catch. Perhaps this is what we're headed out there for.”

Spock doesn't even blink, accustomed to me finishing his sentences now. I miss the pissy eyebrow I always used to get whenever I butted in on him before. “Ping would be a valuable asset to the Federation, should they seek to join.”

There are not enough minutes in the day for Spock to say the word 'Ping' in that flat tone. I've been seeking out every chance I can since receiving this mission briefing to make it happen, Spock eventually catching on after days of me innocently asking him to repeatedly remind me which planet we're speeding towards, like I'm such a ditz I can't remember where my own ship's heading. The last time, this morning, he turned from his station to look over at me.

_“Captain, I must inquire if you find this planet's designation humorous in some manner.”_

_My elbow's propped on the arm of my chair, my chin in my hand, and I try to smother my grin in my fingers. “Whatever gave you that impression?”_

_“You have prompted me to state the planet's name thirteen times in the past thirty four minutes, and have displayed signs of amusement each time I have done so. Am I to understand that you find the name Ping . . .” I swear he emphasizes the P on purpose. Spock's so full of it, he knows exactly why it's hilarious. “Somehow entertaining?”_

_“It's a sound, Spock, not a name. You know, ping!” I imitate the efficient chime the heads make when you're done doing your business, Sulu snorting at his nav panel because he's eavesdropping as usual. Spock eyebrows at me as if he can't believe I'm so trivial that I'd find such a thing amusing. “See? Ping! It's a noise, not a planet. It's the way you say it. It tickles me.”_

_“'Tickles you'?”_

_“It's funny to me.”_

He'd given me the long, level look that I've figured out is his version of an eyeroll before returning his attention to his console with an 'Yes, Captain' in the exact same patronizing tone my fourth grade homeroom teacher used on me whenever I was being – how did they refer to it on my report chips when I was a kid? Oh yeah, inappropriately over-exuberant, a trait that's got me a hell of a lot further than a desk in Riverside Elementary.

Time to wrap this up, because everyone has better stuff to be doing and because Bones looks like he's reaching the point of mutiny, dark storms gathering across that furrowed brow. His hypo thumb must be getting itchy. I close out the display and clasp my hands on the table's surface.

“First contact protocols are set in stone. They must understand Standard to some degree as their invitation didn't require translation, so we'll hail the planet on arrival with usual greetings, then hopefully go dirtside to meet the Pingians in person. We go by the book as much as possible, and find out why they've decided to invite Starfleet to their home world now, after refusing contact for so many years. We'll try to open up discussion of their tritanium deposits once we've got a better feel for what they're after. Agreed?”

Everyone 'Yessir's me, except Spock who answers with his usual 'Yes, Captain', and Bones, who glares across the conference table at me, looking like he's chewing a wasp. 

“Problem, Doctor?”

“There's nothing on file about potential bio-hazards or Pingian disease. Nothing, as if nobody's ever set foot on the place.” It's like if he's taking it personally, like he thinks someone wiped the records just to piss on his week. “I request that we delay away team departure until I've had the opportunity to communicate with whatever healthcare professionals the planet has, in regards to preparatory inoculation.” 

I shake my head, wishing he'd grabbed me after the meeting to discuss it. “Request denied.”

He frowns more deeply, not entirely unreasonably. “Wait a damn minute, now – ”

“I realize this is important and, if we were going anywhere else, I'd agree with you and prioritize it, but this is a notoriously reclusive race that we know very little about, and we can't afford to risk committing some faux pas because we're worried about catching the flu off them.” Bones sits back in a snit, folding his arms and glaring at me ever more darkly from beneath his eyebrows. “I'm sorry, Doctor, but, for reasons best known to them, Command was clear that this is a priority mission that they want handled cleanly. I don't intend to do anything but stick to the manual on this one, which includes risk management.”

A high-priority mission that requires delicate handling, and they gave it to me. I'm still trying to figure that one out or exactly what's involved, as there's been next to nothing in terms of information from either side so far, and I'm not exactly renowned for my diplomacy skills after that one incident on Atluarina Minor. Bones sighs like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders and begins to settle into what I figure is likely to be a two day sulk. Sometimes I think it's his only hobby that doesn't involve grain alcohol. 

“I suppose we could use this as an opportunity to field test the broad spectrum anti-viral, anti-pathogenic serum. It's as ready as it'll ever be.”

It'll be a feather in all our caps if his med team's come up with something of such practical application throughout the fleet. I look out the corner of my eye at Spock, who nods almost imperceptibly. We seem to have clicked into this pattern recently, that he respects my authority to make command decisions without his input in the same manner that I respect his opinion and like to know that we're in accord. Sometimes all I have to do is to look at him for him to know I want his consensus, although he seldom offers it without my prompt. It feels good, like he's always got my back. I nod at Bones, hoping this'll distract him out of the grumps.

“Excellent news, Doctor. Get it ready and start asking for voluntary consent for testing from any potential away team crew.”

“Will do.”

“Good. Anyone else got anything else?” They all shake their heads, eager to be out of this small, stuffy room. “Then we're done. Thanks, everyone. We hit Ping in . . .” 

I look at Sulu, who checks his PADD. “Fifteen hours and forty seven minutes, sir, at current speed.”

“Thank you. Everyone get some rest, I'll need you at your best. Dismissed.”

I clasp Bones on the shoulder as we follow everyone out, but he shakes off my hand without looking back at me. 

“Bones! Bones, Bones, Bones.”

“No.”

“But I might catch some horrible disfiguring disease. What if it ate my face?” I make beseeching eyes at him. “You want that on your conscience?”

“I'm not testing the serum on you.”

“Oh, come on, it was one time a year back.” I follow him and Spock into the turbolift, and Bones glares at me some more as he settles back against the wall. “Hit me up now and you can keep me under observation for the next fifteen hours. I'm robust, I can take it.”

“No.”

“But you're going to give it to Spock, right?”

Bones humphs under his breath. “Like a jab's going to damage one atom of that impenetrable Vulcan hide of his.”

Spock raises an eyebrow and gives Bones a glance which, for him, is a 'Hey buddy, I'm standing right here' look, but I butt in as he opens his mouth because Bones is already PMSing enough without Spock adding to it with one of his snottier Vulcan put-downs. 

“I could make it an order.”

Bones huffs. “You could try.”

“Listen.” I halt the turbolift and turn to Bones in earnestness. “How's it going to look, you testing this exciting new drug on everyone but the Captain? I'll look like a puss. You'll be undermining my authority. Right, Spock?”

“You're joking. Tales of your anaphylaxis after that mud flea shot have grown to legendary proportions throughout the ship, including popping eyeballs and your fingernails shooting off one by one like firecrackers and ricocheting off the walls, so I think the crew will understand my caution.” Bones juts out his jaw belligerently at Spock in challenge. “Wouldn't you agree, Commander?”

This is where Spock's more Vulcan characteristics come into their own. Anyone else would be uncomfortable settling a dispute between us, the crew always disquieted and hesitant to intervene when Bones and I get into one of our wrangles, but Spock merely takes it in his stride as a problem to be solved, pursing his lips as he considers it.

“You are correct, Doctor, that the Captain's prior episode of severe allergic reaction is adequate justification in pursuing a cautionary approach in testing experimental inoculation. I believe that the crew would view it as such, therefore diminishing the possibility of harm to the Captain's reputation.” 

Bones starts to look all smug at me, and I'm thinking about kicking Spock in the ankle when he carries on. 

“However, I understand that you have identified the two known allergens that the Captain's immune system reacts to. As the serum's originators, your team would presumably be able to adequately assess risk to the Captain in terms of whether the serum contains either allergen or similar substance in quantity likely to cause a reaction, specifically in comparison with the probable risk of encountering pathogens or viruses on Ping that may be counteracted by the serum itself.” Spock's tone could not be more reasonable, more measured. I could kiss him. “Have you undertaken such an assessment?”

The smug smile slips, Bones' brows drawing down again as he reaches out to jab at the lift button for Sickbay. “You couldn't quit while I was ahead, could you?”

“You sought my opinion.” That eyebrow could cut a guy's legs out from under him. “Was I not invited to offer it in full?”

I pat Spock on the shoulder, noting as always how solid he is. It's like patting a bulkhead, one that's still not entirely comfortable with how touchy-feely I tend to be, his bicep tightening under my hand. “You absolutely were. Bones is sulking because I won.” 

The turbolift halts, the doors swooshing open, and I give Bones my most winning smile. “So, you'll let me know when the serum's ready?”

Bones exits the turbolift with an affirmative grumble, the tone of which promises he's planning to warm up his hypo thumb in time for my shot.

~*~

“One lasst requesst, Captain Kirk.”

I give myself a mental shake and remind myself to quit smiling dreamily into the Pingian Prime's enormous violet eyes, his softly sibilant and lightly-accented Standard gliding over me like a deep river of warm silk. “Uh, of course, Prime Sen.”

The face on the view screen smiles in response and half the bridge crew get weak at the knees. He's gorgeous, his sand-colored skin shining as if covered in a layer of pearl dust, his cheekbones broad and defined beneath huge almond eyes that slant upwards at the outer corners, thickly fringed with eyelashes the same muted green as his glossy hair. His face appeared on the viewscreen a few moments after we'd hailed the planet on arrival, and I heard Hannity's hushed _'Holy crap'_ over my shoulder at the precise second I'd thought it myself. 

“I undersstand that this may be an unusual requesst, to Federation ears, at leasst. However, it iss important, to my world.”

“Anything we can do, sir.” Damn, it feels like I'm flirting. Did I use my hook-up voice then? I think I'm blushing. Hold it together, man.

“We musst insist that only the males of your crew attend. We are a divided society with strict ssegregation in place. Your females may wissh to contact their counterparts, but official business musst be conducted by males and we will have no part of what the females choose to do. You undersstand?”

“No problem, Prime Sen, we'll do just that. We'll contact your people again once our away team is ready to beam down.”

“Of coursse, Captain Kirk. And, may I hope, you will be accompanying the away team yoursself?”

My face definitely heats up this time, his smile at me so wide and perfect as his eyes twinkle down at me, hugely magnified by the viewscreen. I feel like a southern belle out of an old holovid and like I should have a lacy fan to hide my blushes behind. “I will, I mean, uh, yes. Absolutely. I'm, uh, looking forward to it.” Fuck, gush more? “Yeah. Uh . . . yes.”

“That is wonderful newss. We look forward to meeting you.” His smile turns intimate. Or is that simply my interpretation of it? “I look forward to it, perssonally.”

“That's, uh, great. Yes.” My cheeks burn again and I remind myself to cut the damn link already. “Enterprise out.”

It feels like the entire bridge is staring at me in judgment, Sulu and Chekov turning around to watch me stammer my way through that entire exchange. Spock's the only one paying absolute attention to his station, giving no sign that he even noticed what Prime Sen looked like, let alone the Prime's effect on me.

~*~

The away team's heftier than usual once we're all gathered in the transporter room, Spock recommending that Scotty comes down with us for once to assist with logging the tritanium, rather than manning the transporters and keeping an eye on us all from above. I'm ansty about that because Chekov's with us too, as this is the first away mission since his eighteenth and he's been itching to get off the ship, but, after several hairy transporter incidents over the past year, I'm eager to have an expert at the controls.

Chekov looks wide-eyed and more than a little nervous, like he's regretting tentatively suggesting to me at his last review that he's ready for more responsibility. I agreed with him, though. Of course he's smart, but he's also capable, efficient and, professionally speaking, more confident than any of us initially gave him credit for. I give him a reassuring nod, sure he's ready for this. He gives me a wan smile in return, looking like he's about to puke out of nerves. I decide to take the transporter pad furthest away from him just in case.

We've also got Drury and Walker from Security, Bones grumping over my shoulder about how many different ways the transporter could cause us all painful, torturous death because he's a little ray of sunshine, and there's Spock beside me with his favorite tricorder, Scotty stepping up next to him decked out with a sample kit. I look around at the team, mentally weighing up our strengths, trying one last time to figure out if I've got the right balance. I've somehow gained a reputation for being the type to look after I leap, but a year's captaincy has taught me that a moment's extra consideration seldom costs. But I figure we're good, the ship in Cupcake's meaty, capable hands as I promoted him to Security Chief a few months back. I give the order to energize, waiting for that momentary suggestion of my blood fizzing inside my veins to signal we're on our way.

Once we beam down to the co-ordinates the Pingians gave us, we materialize in a dark, glittering cavern, the walls threaded through with thin, milky-white strata, the air chill and damp. There's no doorway immediately apparently, one miner's lamp embedded in one wall casting our shadows long and dark against the other, no Pingians here to greet us. Spock immediately begins scanning with his tricorder, his eyebrows rising in tandem as he looks around us with an expression as close to pure wonder that I've ever seen on him. 

“This cavern has been formed inside a tritanium deposit. We seem to be beneath the planet's surface, although I am unable to confirm that hypothesis. The sheer mass of tritanium appears to be affecting the tricorder's ability to carry out detailed scans beyond this chamber, much as the ship's sensors were unable to penetrate the planet's crust.”

“We're standing inside a tritanium mass?” 

He nods, looking around himself once more like he can't stop. I've never seen him so absorbed. He's like a kid in Santa's Grotto. “Affirmative, Captain.”

Scotty whistles behind me, gazing up and down at the pewter-dark walls. 

“No way. This is all tritanium?” He walks up to a wall and starts to pet it, Spock following, reaching up to run his fingers delicately over the jagged, sparkling rock. Scotty's voice is breathy when he speaks again, gruff with emotion. “Have you ever seen the like?”

“No, Commander.” Spock's fingers drop away as he checks his tricorder for new readings. “I have not. The existence of such a sizable mass of tritanium ore has no precedent.”

“You're nae kidding. Think they'd mind if I took a wee lump?”

Scotty's already plucked a small phaser probe out of his kit when I hold up my hand to halt him. “Let's at least introduce ourselves before we start hacking holes in their decor, Mister Scott.”

“Aye, sir.” He tucks the probe away. “I s'pose tha'd be polite.”

“Doctor?”

“The air's clean.” He jabs at his medical tricorder as if he doesn't trust its readings. “Very clean. No pathogens at all, in fact, and a miniscule amount of airborne detritus. Spock's probably right – I'd bet the house that we're underground and in an artificially-controlled environment.”

I dig out my communicator and flip it open to let the Enterprise know we're here in one piece, and I'm not entirely surprised when it fails to warble in readiness with an open channel. “No communications down here. The tritanium again?”

“I believe so, Captain. The effects of such a mass of tritanium on Federation technology are unknown, but I am registering no dampening fields or other quantifiable means of interference with our instrumentation.”

“The tritanium's so rare there's never been enough to test?”

“Precisely.”

“Hmm.” My instincts are on yellow alert, not happy that we're trapped in an underground doorless cavern with no means of communication with the ship. “Let's see if we can find an exit. Anything on scans?”

“Negative.” 

“Perhaps zere is a hidden control, Keptin.” Chekov's taken a stance a couple of meters from me and he starts to poke determinedly at the wall. Good for him, taking the initiative. 

“It's worth a shot. Okay, team, spread out.” I walk up to a wall and begin patting it down, the tritanium cool and damp beneath my fingers, the milky strands of calcium softer than the jagged tritanium itself. “Let's see if we can find a way out manually.”

I've barely touched the wall when the ground rumbles beneath our feet, and I snatch my hand back as the rock in front of me begins to dissolve. It actually, physically dissolves into nothingness, not fading away but more like it's disappearing in a swirl of warmer air that's quickly corroding it. I step back, not wanting whatever the hell's in that air to start dissolving me. The area of dissolved rock begins to form an arch, a warm glow of light appearing in the rough-hewn corridor beyond and the sound of footsteps echoing along the walls towards us.

“I guess our welcoming party's decided to pay us a call.” I take a deep breath, trying to stop my heart racing, the shock of that strangely dissolving rock wall inches from my face having sent my pulse jumping skywards. “Restaurant manners, gentlemen. We're here to impress.”

My mind recalls Hannity's surprised mutter from earlier as three figures come around a corner and into the cavern. The Pingians are taller and bigger than us, taller by a head even than Walker who tops out six five, and they're heavily built with broad shoulders and arms more muscled than the doormen at a Risan relaxation house. Dressed in semi-sheer shirts slit to the waist and eye-wateringly tight shorts that leave their broad, muscular legs bare to the ankle, a lot of that shining sand-colored skin is on show, subtly gleaming with iridescent colors that hadn't shown up on our viewscreen. They're stunning. I've never felt punier or less attractive in my life. They bow from the waist as one.

“Greetingss, new friendss.” 

Then they move to one side as another Pingian enters the cavern with a wide smile, his arms outstretched in welcome. 

“Captain Kirk, you have arrived! May I call you Jamess?”

“I would be honored, Prime Sen. I'm – oof!” 

He flings his arms around me and I find myself lifted off my feet as he crushes me to his naked, very muscled and outrageously sexy chest. My nose is smooshed into his skin and his scent wraps itself around me, an attractive herby, green scent that brings to mind the muted sage of their shaggy hair or the sweet mint tea Mom used to give me whenever I got sick. He squeezes the last of the breath out of me then returns me to the ground, his heavy hand patting my cheek affectionately. 

“Pleasse, my given name is Sextus.” Of course it is. “We will be friendss beyond titles, no?”

He's heartbreaking up close, his skin smooth and completely hairless, so much so that its iridescence reflects the lamp light to glow almost phosphorescently. His voice and those softly hissed accents are more beguiling in person, those purple eyes more exotic, and I find myself licking my lips as I look at his, which are full and soft-looking, their plump curves accentuated by the sheen of his complexion. He's like one of those big erotic statues Orions are so fond of filling their temples with, naked to the waist and clad only in a pair of those tiny shorts and flimsy sandals, and I can feel my body reacting to his in a manner that's not entirely diplomatic.

“I, uh.” I swallow, and try to encourage my brain to concentrate on being captainy rather than focusing on how little his shorts do to hide how similar Pingian anatomy is to ours, only more amply-proportioned everywhere. “I hope so, Sextus. Your people are very kind to welcome us into your home.”

“The pleasure is all ourss.” 

One by one, the other Pingians take it in turn to embrace my away team, Chekov almost disappearing within the arms of the biggest Pingian there, and Bones giving me an incredulous eyebrow over the shoulder of his as he's lifted off the ground and given a warm hug. I notice Spock hanging back, a faint crease between his eyebrows betraying how he's uncomfortable with the idea of being cuddled by a half-naked Pingian, and I make a split-second decision to get him out of it, figuring that Sextus seems amiable enough for this to be unlikely to cause much offense. I take a step towards Spock, indicating him with my outstretched hand. 

“Sextus, please allow me to introduce my first officer, Commander Spock. He is Vulcan, and their culture –”

“Doess not engage in casual physical contact with otherss.” Sextus nods and treats Spock to a smile that makes me go from crotchally aware to a definite semi. “It iss so unusual, to deny yourselvess the pleasure of interpersonal touch, but I am sure you have your reasonss. We have made ourselves familiar with your cusstoms, Commander, and will seek to follow them where possible.”

Spock inclines his head, the crease gone. “I am grateful for your consideration, Prime Sen.”

“Not at all, Commander. We wissh for you all to be most comfortable.” 

Sextus's eyes trace up and down over Spock, and I wonder to myself once more how an all-male society functions on a personal level. Then one of Sextus's massive arms wraps around my shoulders and he begins to lead me towards the corridor, nodding to his men to bring the rest of the away team with them. 

“Come, Jamess. There is much I dessire to discover about your people.” His thumb rubs against the skin at my neck and I about start to purr, shivers running down from his touch. His voice drops conspiratorially as he leans towards me, and I feel it all the way down to my nuts as his sweetly-scented breath caresses my face. “And there is so very much I wissh to learn about you.”

~*~

“So, as you can ssee, the segregation of our sexes put an end to centuriess of war, and is conssidered a turning point for our people.”

“And you don't have any contact with the female population of your planet? Never?”

Sextus shakes his head as he reaches over to pour more of the over-sweet, honey-scented wine into my cup, ignoring my demurral and pushing my hand out the way when I cover the cup over, aware I've got to get back to the ship at some point to log my initial report and that it'd probably be a good idea to do it at least halfway sober. Besides, Sextus allowed me to use their technology to contact the ship after our arrival, and I could tell Cupcake wasn't comfortable with us being down here, incommunicado as we are without the assistance of the Pingians and buried three kilometers within the planet's tritanium deposits. I'd be exactly the same in his position.

“Not in persson, no. I communicate with my equivalent, as do other certain roles within our governmentss, but the correspondence is limited to pertinent facts and demonstrably legitimate queriess via a sysstem that limits the possibility of mutual attraction. Although, after so many centuries of same-sex contact, our cultures and people abhor the concept of sexual contact between the two sexes, to the point where not a one of us would consider it a viable possibility. Even the mere notion of it . . .” He closes his eyes and takes a breath, his face momentarily disgusted before what appears to be Sextus's near-constant smile reasserts itself. “Forgive me, Jamess. We understand from Federation records that the majority of humanity identifiess as bisexual, and I would so hate to cause offense. What your species chooses to do is, of coursse, not of our concern.”

His eyes tell me a different story, gazing down into mine as if willing me to personally enlighten him on human sexuality and, after three glasses of sticky wine and almost an hour now of Sextus's silken voice lulling me into a state of hypnosis, I'm happy to oblige, relaxed as I am, laid out in perfect comfort on one of the many deeply-stuffed couches that skirt the low banquet table we're gathered around. 

“Humans don't tend to discuss personal preference in those around us. It's objectionable for us to focus on sexuality as an indicator of an individual's personality, worth, or any other matter of consequence. A person's sexuality is a non-issue.” 

I push the cup away, Sextus tutting teasingly under his breath and pushing it back. 

“Please, continue.”

“There's not much more to tell. I have no stake in the orientation of others, providing I'm not attracted to them myself,which would therefore make their sexuality of relevant interest. Otherwise, the sex or gender of their chosen partner or partners has nothing to do with me. It's just, I don't know, it's not something we care about.”

“Truly?”

I think about it for a second longer, the alcoholic content of the wine buzzing happily around my veins. “I'd say that's a pretty accurate description of Humanity's current stance on that subject.”

Sextus settles back into his couch with his cup of wine as he gives me a considered grin, his strong legs stretched out endlessly in front of him, his chest gleaming warmly in the low, flickering lamp light and his tight velvety shorts lovingly emphasizing the full bulge of his crotch. I fight to keep my eyes looking into his, wishing they'd turn the heat down in this place as my undershirt's beginning to stick to me. 

“Then tell me, Jamess, if your species is so dissinterested with each other's sexuality, how it is that you have developed, shall we say, a reputation for a certain vigor with regardss to the acquisition of sexual experience?”

I notice Spock's eyes glancing our way from across the table while in mid-discussion with the head of Pingian's Institute of Learning, and I privately concur with what's probably worrying him. Sextus and the Pingians sure seem to know a lot about us, along with Sextus's earlier admission that they were accessing Federation data. I file it away to follow up later once these initial welcoming festivities are completed, and shrug it off to Sextus as if the Pingian leader having learned about my supposedly animated libido from halfway across the galaxy isn't a matter of concern to us. 

“Oh, don't get me wrong. Humans are, generally speaking, more prurient than most species we've had contact with.” Barring Orions. I smile into my cup as I take another sip of wine and think about Gaila, remembering how she couldn't understand me trying and failing to change the subject as, over a lunch tray in an over-crowded cadet mess hall, she'd decided to excitedly describe to me and the other suddenly-fascinated people at our table the size of the horrifying strap-on she'd bought to surprise me with. She'd gone on to demonstrate its various dimensions with both hands after Bones had encouraged her to do so, him then sitting back with a contented grin to enjoy watching me flinch at how wide a circle she was holding her joined fingers in. 

“But we're not that concerned with the genitalia involved.” Provided it's not seven inches in girth. “Individuals are free to be as open or as private as they wish concerning details of sexual intimacy. Or with sexual intimacy itself.”

“And you are . . .” Sextus's smile widens a touch. “quite free with sharing yours?”

I'm pretty sure First Contact protocols don't include allowing yourself to be seduced by a planetary leader. I can't sleep with him. I can't. I look into his shining eyes and mentally repeat it to myself once more. I can't sleep with Sextus, no matter how much of a super stud he thinks I might be or however much of this wine he pours down my throat. “Not notably, no, I don't think so. It's that human prurience I was referring to. We love to gossip, and most gossip is inaccurate. I'd say my sexual history is pretty average for a man my age.”

This is a strange conversation to be having outside a bar, in uniform, on duty. I look around the room at my crew, wondering if they're all being quizzed on similar matters. Spock's looking politely interested in whatever his Pingian's imparting to him, Chekov's across the room chatting animatedly with the same huge Pingian who'd hugged him earlier, Bones is tossing back the wine now he's figured out it's diplomatic of him to do so, and Scotty's happily swapping his various probes with the Pingian who seems to be in charge of technological development. He keeps handing Scotty tiny, intricately-engineered tritanium instruments that I imagine are more likely to give Scotty wood than any amount of purple-eyed flirting.

“You do not seem to me to be an average anything, Jamess. Although, I must say,” Sextus looks around the low ceilinged, glittering cave we're situated in now, warmly lit with torches and a central glowing rock, the walls hung with paintings of muscular Pingians wrestling nude. At least, that's what I think they're doing. “On this one small ssample, Humanity is an attractive race. Very much so. We had heard taless of the delicacy of humans, how fragile you are, how diminutive and weak yet headsstrong and passionate, how potent. And Vulcanss, with their intenssity and grace, so stoical and so unaware of their charm. Stories of the Enterprise and her brave, heroic and mosst resolute crew reached us, and those are values that hold great worth in male Pingian society. We wisshed to meet you, and to witness your masculinity for oursselves.”

“That's why you made contact with the Federation?” 

Because their culture's got a hard-on for the Enterprise's mission history, the one that's full of instances that I've bumbled my way through blindly, relying way too hard on luck and the solid back-up of a talented crew? Our first year's been pretty damn good, and I'm a better captain than I'd suspected I might be during my more introspective moments, but I'm not sure how much credit I'm able to take for all of it. Sextus shifts closer towards me on his couch, his thighs and chest reflecting the torch light, his hairless arm almost brushing against mine.

“You musst understand that, to the Pingian mind, our neighbors are not our equalss, which is why we have not sought the insstance of much contact outside our system. We value strength, valor, a certain command of sself. We respect the ability that your ship and her crew have dissplayed, that drive to achieve the desired outcome regardless to apparent rissk. Those few planetss we have historically had contact with have not shared our values, our own strengthss, and they have not been physically pleasing to the eye. We feel that Humanity and, by association, Vulcans, may become friendss of Ping and its males. We would take your strength and, may I ssay, your great beauty, and add it to our own. Do you see?”

I frown, pushing the cup away once more as the sweet wine inside along with the heat and the effect of Sextus's whispery, sinuous voice is making my head pound, and I'm beginning to feel tired, the air in this room too stuffy and the constant arousal caused by Sextus difficult to keep from boiling over into making a lunge in his direction. 

“That's very flattering and I'd like to thank you for your kind words about my people, but I'm not sure I understand the last part of that. You'll add us to your culture? You want to share cultural information and gain an understanding of our strengths, or . . .?”

Sextus reaches out and covers my hand with his own. It's so big against mine, an adult's hand covering a child's, his skin cool and dry. “We'll take you into our society, and therefore gain from your strengths, your stories, your culture, your attractiveness and your allure.”

A flutter of worry rises up my throat. “Take it how, exactly?”

He tilts his head at me in benevolent patience as if I'm being adorably dense, his fingers caressing mine. “With marriage and procreation, of coursse.”

“What?” I whip my hand away like it was bitten by a snake, Spock giving me another concerned look across the table. I guess I should dial down on the panicky tone, I never did react well to the M word. At least it functions as a bucket of cold water so far as my libido goes. “Well, that's an interesting idea, but I doubt Starfleet will authorize the Enterprise to remain with your people long enough for romantic attachments to develop between any of us to that degree. Perhaps if Ping sought Federation membership, the resultant contact between our races would provide the opportunity for that to happen in the future. I'm sure there are many humans who'd,” Jump at the chance to get boned silly by anything as big, pretty and generously endowed as a Pingian native. “Welcome the opportunity to, uh, get to know you guys better.”

“No, Jamess.” He shakes his head, that shaggy, glossy moss-green hair tumbling across his eyes. “We will marry your men now. We, like your Enterprise crew, believe in molding the future to our desiress, as you did with your defeat of the Warrior Nero. We will take your men, and have you all be a part of us.”

“Oh.” My head's fuzzy with the heat and booze, and I think his words over a few times before I can react, concern mutating into outright apprehension. “You'll 'take' us? What does that mean? By force? Because I think I can speak on behalf of my crew when I say we're not ready for marriage.”

I'm trying to keep the tone light in case I've got this all wrong, which is a possibility. Still, my stomach churns uneasily as I wait for his answer, the heat of the room seeming like it's growing more punishing with every second that passes.

“Which is why we do not wissh to leave the choice in your hands. It will be for the good of both our peoples. We have your landing party, and will send for more from your ship. We do not intend to take you all. Fifty males, perhapss, to start with. We will make your new home a mosst comfortable one.” 

He smiles sweetly at me, reaching up to rub over my chin with his thumb, and I can't stop myself from rudely jerking my head away.

“Tha's unacceptable. We'd be happy t'make a peaceful alliance with your people, but we won't submit to marriage by force or any other form of imprisonment, and the Federation won't take kindly to having its citizens held agains' their will.” I set my mouth, trying to appear steadfast and a force to be reckoned with, despite the sweat dripping down my temples and how my words are beginning to slur. “Iss time we get back to th' ship for th' night. We c'n discuss this further tomorrow.”

I try to get to my feet and the floor spins beneath my boots as I sit back down on the couch, my head woozy with heat and alcohol. 

“There will be no further discussion, Jamess. The decision was made long before we had met, and, now that I have seen your beauty for myself, there is no quesstion that you will be mine. You are such an exquissite little thing.” 

Sextus's fingers stroke through my hair and I fight against a wave of drowsiness as whatever must be in that wine, whatever didn't come up on Bones' checks, begins to take effect on me. I'm struggling to keep my eyes open, looking around the room to notice Chekov already slumped over the arm of his couch, Scotty falling backwards off of his, even the man mountain that is Lieutenant Walker getting to his feet flanked by two hulking Pingians as he looks up at them in a confused manner before crumpling into a dead faint at their feet. 

“Wait, no. No. S-Spock.” My voice sounds muddy and muted like I'm trying to call to him through water, but I need to get to him because Spock's the strongest of all of us. It feels like he's miles away from me but I need him and reach out towards him, my hand falling away as my arm's strength fails me. “Spock, I need . . .”

Spock's head turns slowly towards me, the curve of his ear flushed green at the tip, but his eyes are closing, his head flopping back against the back of his couch as his mouth slackens in unconsciousness, and the last thing I'm aware of is the touch of Sextus's fingers on my jaw before I follow my crew into oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

_Uhhgh._ It's been awhile since I've woken like this, my hungover brain attempting to crawl out my ears. My mouth tastes like a cycler chute, and my body's naked under the sheets even though I have no idea how it got that way or whose bed I'm in. I ignore my stomach's rancid churning and slowly open my eyes, my eyelids feeling like they're peeling apart, weirdly sticky. I take a mental inventory of my ills as I take a look around. It's not a regular hangover but I dread to think what it was I'd been drinking. It doesn't feel like I've had sex, with none of the usual morning-after aches or tingles or telling abrasions I'd expect after a night's drunken fucking. Weird. And I'm in a . . . cave? A big bed. Huge. A huge bed in a dark, glittering cave lit with torches. 

Wait. 

It starts to come back in flashes of memory that make my head pound worse. The Pingians. 

Sextus, his softly-gruff voice sending sizzles of arousal up and down my spine as he kept my cup topped up with a sweet, resinous wine, which started to make my head spin. 

His questions, his fingers on my skin.

His threats, spoken as if they were reasonable and no cause for alarm. 

Spock, his eyes rolling back in his head as he passed out in front of me. 

_The decision was made long before we had met, and, now that I have seen your beauty for myself, there is no quesstion that you will be mine._

Sextus. Am I in his bed? Drugged, imprisoned, stripped naked and put in my jailer's bed? I have no idea where the others might be and my protesting gut stops fermenting, a cold lump of worry forming inside. As far as I can tell, it seems like Sextus decided to be a gentleman last night, but there's no way I can be sure the rest of the away team were so lucky, and my skin crawls at the thought. I close my eyes and groan again, running my tongue over dry, cracked lips as I try to hold my head together with both hands. Chekov, shit, this is his first away mission. If they've harmed one single hair on that curly little head of his . . . 

And what about Spock? The thought of any one of those hulking great Pingian bastards manhandling an unconscious Spock into nakedness and one of their beds makes my blood boil, my fingers curling against my scalp with horror. Spock's pristine, so dignified and honorable. The likes of me, Scotty and Bones are well-versed in overcoming things we regret after drinking too much of an unidentified alcoholic substance, and I remember from Drury's file that his personality traits include 'indefatigably social', which is I've figured out is Academy shorthand for 'flunked at least one course due to excessive partying'. But this kind of bullshit shouldn't happen to someone like Spock. It shouldn't happen to anybody, not me, not Bones or Drury or any of us, but especially not Spock or a kid like Pavel. Guilt and self-recrimination starts to flood my mind, that I allowed this to happen, to all of us, and I have to make a conscious effort to push it away as blaming myself isn't going to help a damn thing.

I sit up in the bed, my temples throbbing as a wave of acidic nausea rushes through me with a sick shiver. Maybe I should vomit all over Sextus's big, fancy bed. And fancy it is, as befitting a world leader. It's almost half the size of my quarters, as soft as clouds with a pillowy cover made out of some kind of silky stuff the same deep pewter as the cave's tritanium walls. There's a huge, detailed painting over the bed of three naked Pingian males who are unquestionably not wrestling this time. But there's no other apparent furnishings, no doors that I can see. No sign of my uniform. Nothing other than a thick furry rug covering the floor that's also the same dark gray-purple mix of the walls and sheets. 

Tritanium, all of it. I remember now how Padnus, Spock's Pingian conversation partner at our welcome dinner, explained the extent to which the Pingians are able to manipulate the material. Tritanium's molecular structure, the one that allows Federation scientists to engineer it into the tiniest, most complex sophisticated technology, is so familiar to the Pingians that they can create just about anything out of it, including their disappearing and reappearing doors, their clothing, their underground homes and accompanying support systems that protects them from the corrosive rain at the planet's surface. Even the pigments in the pornographic painting above my head, and the fuel that's feeding the flames of the torches lighting the room. It provides them with pretty much everything but their food, which is grown in a richly-nutricious, tritanium-based medium that Sulu would lose his shit over.

I grab the silky tritanium quilt and wrap it around myself, ignoring how every movement I make makes it increasingly difficult not to retch. I swallow repeatedly to try to settle my gut, coaxing my saliva glands into action as I climb off the bed and begin to try to figure out once more how the door controls work, and where one might be. I'm concentrating so hard on ignoring my hangover while I poke at the walls that I barely notice the whooshing sound behind me that signals a door appearing on the far wall, two Pingians walking through it, each one looking about twice my size although I understand logically that can't be right.

“Greetings, Jamess of Sextus.” They both bow, their sheer shirts gaping open, the one not speaking giving me a shy smile as they both look me over speculatively. “We noticed you have woken, and you will now wissh to bathe.”

I gather the quilt more tightly around me and pull myself up to my full height. “My name is James Kirk, _Captain_ James Kirk, and what I wish is for my uniform to be returned to me, and for myself and my people to be released and immediately returned to our ship.”

“No.” It's said kindly, with a sympathetic tilt of the head like he's talking to a child, although their eyes are taking in my naked shoulders and chest with altogether more adult kind of focus. I tug the quilt up higher. “It is time for you to bathe and to dress, if you wissh.”

“I don't wish. I have been forcibly drugged and am being held against my will, both of which are crimes against a Federation citizen. Get me my uniform, Prime Sen and an open link to my ship. Now.”

A shake of his head, his eyes traveling down my quilt-wrapped body, his pale sand-colored tongue licking over his bottom lip as he looks at my bare feet. “You will bathe or be bathed, dress or be dressed.”

I back up against the wall totally, the jagged tritanium digging into my skin. “You touch me and I'll rip your hand off your goddamn arm.”

“Prime Sen has made his wisshes clear.” I try to duck out the way as they move forward with surprising agility given their size, the chattier Pingian firmly taking hold of my wrists in hands that are immovable. “We will take you to bathe now.”

“Like hell you will! You are assaulting a Starfleet officer. Get the fuck off me!” 

I try to twist out of his grip but it's impossible, like trying to fight against a rock wall. Luckily I'd nervously tucked the quilt tight enough around me that it's not fallen to the ground now my hands are otherwise occupied, so at least I'm covered up as I'm hoisted cursing up a blue streak at them both into the air, the other Pingian lifting my ankles as easily as if I weigh about the same as a lunch tray. I continue wriggling and shouting and cursing and making impotent threats the whole five minute walk along one of the gloomy tunnels that I remember from yesterday making a lot of Pingian architecture, each one lit with torches and glowing stones, occasionally opening up into either a small rounded cave used for private dwellings, or the larger, lighter and more open caverns used for communal activities. 

But this time the tunnel slopes downwards and I quit shouting as a door appears and we enter a breathtaking room, the tritanium above us glittering with a thousand different points of bright blue and green like the skies around the Helix Nebula. The light's coming from a steaming pool that fills the entire floor space of the small cave, the tritanium beneath the crystal clear water glowing with aquamarine light, the surface of the pool steaming gently where occasional bubbles break the surface. I'm speechless for a second, struck dumb by how beautiful and how completely inviting it looks, but the fingers tighten on my now-bruised wrists and ankles once more, which motivates me to start up with verbally abusing them to the best of my ability again. Which means my mouth's open mid-curse as they wordlessly heft me, quilt and all, into the pool with a splash.

I splutter to the surface, the water a couple of degrees too hot for comfort, spitting out a mouthful and noticing again that sweet, herby, slightly metallic flavor that seems to permeate everything on Ping. The taste of tritanium, I guess. My toes can just about touch bottom if I keep my chin thrust upwards, the quilt wrapping itself around my legs like river weed as I start to tread water instead, calling out to the exiting Pingians, who bow once my way and mutter their leave.

“Where are you going? Hey! Get me out of here, it's too hot.”

I start to swim over to the edge of the pool closest to the entrance to the cave, struggling to keep hold of the waterlogged quilt as I do so. The Pingian in charge, the one with shorter, shaggier hair and an upturned snub nose, turns back to me in the doorway and tilts his head in that patronizing manner I'm beginning to suspect all Pingians share.

“Prime Sen would have us resspect your persson as you bathe. Thiss is to be your bathing chamber. Within it, Prime Sen would give you your privacy, should you choose to bathe yourself when assked to do so.”

“My privacy?” I'm grasping the edge of the pool, the tritanium too worn smooth and wet here for me to be able to climb out of myself. I could probably make it out if I ducked under and boosted myself off the pool's bottom, but I'd have to say goodbye to the quilt. I start to look around for any steps. “What, this is the only place I get to be by myself?”

“It is the place in which you may be sure you are unobsserved. Prime Sen does not wissh his people to witness his husband's – ” The Pingian looks down at me and licks his bottom lip. “Full nakedness. That iss for him alone, as much as is possible. He is a wise leader, to protect something so pleassing.”

“So I'm observed everywhere else?” This could all be useful information, and the heat of the water's starting to make me sweat my hangover out my pores. I rub the water out of my eyes and decide to give it another few minutes, see where I can get with this guy. “Like where? How?”

“Everywhere. If you are alone, as you were thiss morning as you slept, you are watched.”

“Surveillance technology?”

He nods, his purple eyes darkening as he looks at my chest. “You are within the Residence of the Sen. All areas are watched, except thiss one, when you are alone to bathe.”

“So, you'll be watching us in bed? Me and Sextus?” 

Bullseye. This guy's breathing is growing erratic and, as I take a look with as much subtlety as I'm able to, he's definitely getting excited, a long, fat ridge of Pingian anatomy swelling against the tight fabric of his shorts. “Then it will be Prime Sen himsself who observes you, and himsself alone. We will not watch you mating.”

Even though it's clear from his physical reactions alone that this guy would, given the opportunity. If all the Pingians prove to be as horny and naive as this guy, our predicament may not be as serious as I'd been worrying about, as a few words of vaguely suggestive conversation has already started to give me an idea of where I am and the level of security here. I close out the panicky spurt of fear that enters my chest at his use of the word 'mating', figuring I'll deal with that as and when it becomes an issue. Right now, I've got to get started on getting us out of this place.

“I'm getting too hot, the heat's making me dizzy. How do I get out?”

It's the truth. A constant stream of heated water seems to be entering the pool from one darker corner, a natural spring perhaps, and I feel like I might pass out again if I'm in here too much longer. The Pingian manages to drag his attention away from my nipples long enough to point to the far side of the pool, shallow steps just visible now I know where to look. 

“Over there. I will leave you now to dress, Jamess of Sextus. My name is Stoods of Pinsnah, and I am to be your primary attendant.”

“'Of Pinsnah'? That means you're married?”

A Pingian blush, the pale sand of Stoods' cheeks coloring a darker gold as he hangs his head sweetly with a laugh, covering the center of his naked chest with one hand held flat against his skin. 

“It does, to Pinsnah, the lord of my heart. Prime Sen is too wise to place an unmarried attendant with such a thing as yoursself. The temptations of your soft flessh . . .” He sighs, looking helplessly at my naked shoulders, my throat, my mouth. “Might prove too alluring to a sexually-unsatissfied male. But I musst leave you now.”

He turns from me abruptly, and a muted jangle draws my attention to a fine, decorative chain hanging around one of his ankles above the supple sandals they all wear. “Your clothing is here, in thiss nook. Dress yoursself, and I will return to take you to your husband.”

It's only once the door's become solid rock behind his departing back that I tentatively allow the heavy, sodden quilt to drop into the pool as I wade out up the steps, acutely conscious of my nakedness now I'm out of the water, even though Stoods told me I wouldn't be watched in here. I make my way around the glowing pool's edge, dripping water the whole way, to where he'd pointed at my clothes, knowing not to get my hopes up that he meant my uniform. My heart sinks all the same when I get around to the dressing area to find a panel of floor-to-ceiling tritanium polished to a mirror's reflectivity, a single shelf of oils and ointments, a pair of sandals that look about my size, and such a tiny pile of folded cloth that it takes me a second to register that it's there.

~*~

I swear, no matter how much he begs or pleads or threatens blackmail, I'm never going to another strip club with Bones in my life. I've never been looked in this way before, not like this, as Stoods and Pake, my other attendant, lead me along various tunnels and past several Pingians, who all stop what they're doing to watch me pass like they're starving for food and I'm an open buffet. I'm trying to keep my mind on memorizing our route, on visually locating the surveillance cameras that Stoods implied exist everywhere, and on noticing how much other security is around the place or how they open doors, even, but it's impossible with all this sexual focus directed at me from every huge Pingian we pass. This must be what prey animals feel like, constantly vulnerable and like everything around them's just waiting for the right opportunity to pounce and devour. 

Stoods halts us in front of a towering wall off one of the communal tunnels and waits patiently for a beat. Three Pingians pass behind us, one making a low growling noise under his breath as he does so. I grit my teeth and pluck the shorts out of my ass once more, because they're at least a size too small and keep wedging themselves firmly up my buttcrack, leaving half each asscheek hanging out the bottom. Like I need to further display any body parts in an outfit like this. Then a double door begins to dissolve into place in front of us, no mechanism clear for how it's triggered, and Stoods begins to lead us into the huge cavern beyond. 

“Jamess! My little one.” 

Sextus is seated in an ornately-carved throne in what's remarkably similar to my bridge, a wide, busy room full of Pingians working at various stations around him. But they all stop what they're doing, a hush coming over the large room as Sextus stands and makes his way over to us, Stoods and Pake dropping back respectfully. I stand as proudly as I can, aware I barely come up to the collarbone of the shortest Pingian in here, and step out the way as Sextus makes to throw his arms around me. 

“No. No hugging. Prime Sen, we need to –”

“My Jamess. Come now, do not be angry with me, hussband. You will forgive me soon enough, yess?”

“I'm not your husband and no, Prime Sen, I can't forgive crimes against –”

“Look at you. Oh, my adored one, look at how exquissite you are for me.” 

Sextus steps back to do so, his eyes alight with pleasure as he looks down over my naked chest where the sheer, sleeveless tunic is slit to my belly button, barely reaching the low-slung waist of the miniscule velvet shorts that fit me like a second skin, my legs naked from the hip all the way down to the straps of my thin sandals. 

“You're holding me and, I have to assume, my people, against our will. Release us.”

I can tell from how his eyes have glazed over, his breathing growing heavy, that he's barely paying attention to a word I say as he gazes up and down my fully-displayed body, and his breath is sweet against my face as he leans in to whisper silkily for my ears only. 

“I would have you now. Right now, here, over the Prime's throne, if only our pairing had been fully establisshed. You are such a prize, my Jamess.”

“Prime Sen.” It doesn't get his attention and I clear my throat to draw his eyes back to mine from where they seem to be admiring just how tight these shorts are. “Sextus. Please, listen to me. Are you and your people aware that, by imprisoning Federation citizens without legal charge or any redress to justice, you are inviting the full weight of Starfleet's operational forces to take us back? Forcibly, if needs be? One planet can't withstand war with the Federation.”

“Come, lover.” Dammit. Sextus isn't acknowledging a word of this, taking my wrist in his huge hand and leading me over to his throne. He sits and smiles at me, patting his knee invitingly. “Our marriage isn't yet finalized but thiss one small comfort is permissible.”

Stoods and Pake have melted away, standing discreetly against a distant wall as activity has resumed around us, the usual hum of a busy control station, different pairs of violet eyes still occasionally flickering back towards me as the Pingians busy themselves with their work. I don't budge, giving Sextus a stern look. 

“Forget it, I'm not sitting on your lap. I'm a Starfleet officer, Sextus. They will come for us. You know that, you're not stupid.”

He shrugs, the first sign he's been listening at all. “So they come. What will they do? We are able to susstain bombardment from your strongest weaponss, and no other world but Ping is able to mine our surface. Our _tritanium,_ as you call it, iss our protector, our shield. But I do not wissh to discuss such matters, my Jamess.”

“I'm not your anything!” I blow out a breath, fighting to keep calm. “I demand to see any crew members you're holding, and to speak to my ship.”

He pats his knee once more. “Come and sit, and we shall discuss it.”

“I'm not sitting on you.” I'm finding it tough to argue with any authority when I'm dressed like a rent boy. “Get me a chair and we'll talk.”

“I am in no hurry, sweet one. Our marriage will be finalized in a few hourss and –”

My turn to interrupt. “I'm not marrying you.”

“You have no choice.”

“You're going to force me to state during a ceremony that I want to marry you? I'd like to know how.”

A benevolent smile. “We do not require such a statement.”

“I see. You'll marry me without my consent.” The slow anger that's been simmering in my gut since I woke begins to burn brighter. “Am I to assume the wedding night will be much of the same?”

Sextus's smile doesn't slip in its patience and sweetness. “I do not need force mysself on any person, and certainly not that person I mosst cherish and adore. You will come to me of your own choice.”

“You've got a long wait ahead of you.” Spock's commented a few times on how illogically stubborn humans are able to be. I summon it up, folding my arms across my chest and setting my jaw. “Give me an open line to the Enterprise.”

He pats his knee a third time so I give up on him and begin to walk towards the nearest workstation, the two Pingians there looking over to Sextus in alarm when I march up to it and wriggle my way between them to see if I can find anything useful. 

“Jamess, pleasse. This is pointless.”

I can't make any sense of their displays, the pictograms they use as a written language completely alien to me and the controls non-responsive to my touch when I ignore the hulking Pingians beside me and jab at the console a few times. Nothing. So I try the next, striding across to the next closest station while the Pingians stand back and watch me, Sextus simply sitting back with an indulgent smile and tender eyes that I'm sure are glued to my ass every time I turn my back. Eventually I have to give up, having tried every station and finding them all as indecipherable as the last, all dead to my touch. I feel like punching my way through one in rage, and I'd try it if I didn't have a good idea that they're all tritanium and likely to break my hand.

“Goddammit, Sextus, _somebody_ , give me a line to my ship!”

“Do you see, sweet one?” Sextus's voice is gentle as he stands to walk over to me, taking my hands in his as I stare furiously at him, seething with powerlessness. “Come sit, and speak with me. Assk me what you will. Is it too much, to expect my lover to acquiesce on thiss one small point?”

I dig my shorts out of my ass again because it feels like my nuts are being tugged up there with them. Then look at Sextus, weighing up whether or not to take an important strategic step that I'd never forseen being a part of my career. “You'll let me speak to my ship if I sit on your lap?”

“No, little one. But I will allow you to see your crew.”

He leads me back over to his throne, my eyes level with his defined chest and iridescent nipples before he sits and pats his knee for the last time. I sigh, close my eyes, and start to lower my scantily-clad ass down onto his leg as I remind myself that this is tactical, and he hums in pleasure, wrapping one hand around my waist and guiding me back to lie against his muscled torso for a snuggle.

~*~

“Oh, God, Mr. Scott, not you too.”

“Aye, sir.” Scotty turns a slow circle in a fancy pose like he's modeling lingerie, the tiny shorts emphasizing how skinny and hairy his thighs are. “You don't think it's a good look on me?”

Considering his slight paunch is sticking out the sheer shirt and that he's fish-belly pale beneath it, I have to shake my head. “It's not your color.”

“Surprisingly comfy, though.”

“Really?” I shift on the low couch I'm waiting for the away team on as he sits down opposite on another one. “Glad you think so. I swear these shorts are trying to get friendly with my colon.”

“Well, look at this. Christmas certainly came early this year.” 

Bones' dry laughter starts up over my shoulder as another door appears in a different wall this time, and I turn to ask him what's so funny, assuming he's in the same skimpy outfit as Scotty and me. But he's not, instead swathed from his shoulders to his knees in a long tunic made out of the same velvet as our shorts, covered up to an almost puritanical degree compared with any other Pingian mode of dress we've seen. 

“Am I paying for the pleasure of your company this morning, gentlemen? Because I'm not sure I've got any credits on me right now.” He slumps down onto another couch, reaching out to grab a cup of water off the table in front of us.

“Where the hell did you get that outfit? And shut up.”

“My, uh, significant other is a healer, and this is a traditional healer's robe used for certain ceremonies.” Bones raises his eyebrow at me. “What, you think I was ever going to agree to wearing that get-up? You've got to be kidding me.”

“I didn't have much of a choice.”

“Me, neither. It was this or stark-bollock nude, and I prefer to keep the chaps tucked safely away.” Scotty pokes at the bowl of fruit. “I've nae eaten yet this morning. Y'think we're okay to have a go at this stuff, Doc?”

“Sure, go ahead. Not much point in us all starving to death while we wait for rescue.” Bones takes a handful of what look like silver grapes and sits back, popping one into his mouth. “That is the plan, right? We're not planning on making a permanent home here?”

“Let's wait till we're all here, but no, I'm not intending to sit on my ass and wait.” I grab a green peachy-looking thing, suddenly aware that I've not eaten yet, either. “We're going to need everyone on this. I'm not getting anywhere by . . . myself . . .”

I've completely lost the thread of what I was saying, the same door Scotty came through opening once more as Walker, then Spock enter through it, their Pingian chaperones nodding to them through it before turning and exiting back down the tunnel they'd entered through. Walker looks like a wet dream in the now-familiar shorts and sheer tunic ensemble, his chest smooth and broadly muscled, his dark brown skin gleaming in the torch light as he sheepishly nods to us and sits primly on the couch with his knees together, much like I am. But it's Spock I can't take my eyes off. 

The slit tunic looks like it was designed with him in mind. His bare arms are perfectly toned, his torso tight, the sheer fabric displaying flawlessly pale skin and a chest lightly furred with soft-looking chest hair the same glossy black as his hair. Velvet shorts cling to slim hips and the flat stomach above a full bulge lovingly cupped by the fabric at his groin. His legs are endless. I've fantasized about naked Spock a hundred times over since discovering months back that he makes spectacular jerk-off material, but I've never come close to imagining how good he looks like this, his dark eyes giving away no hint of discomfort as he greets us all with a nod each and polite murmur of our ranks as if he's merely joining us around the table in Conference Room 1. 

I'm too busy gaping at him wordlessly to notice Chekov quietly slipping into place onto the couch with Bones, turning that way only when Bones clears his throat, Pavel nowhere near as skinny as I'd have expected him to be under his uniform. They've given him a kind of knee-length skirt thing, slit up one lean thigh, plus the same sheer tunic that only Bones has escaped so far. Then Drury shows up in the shorts, sandals and shirt outfit, and we're done. I look around us all, opening my mouth to begin to deal with this almighty mess, and surprise the fuck out of myself when I start laughing.

“Uh, Captain? Is he okay?”

Drury looks from me to Bones like he's worried I'm still drugged up, and I laugh harder, clutching my stomach as Scotty starts to snigger beside me.

“Shit. We look like a . . .” I double over with silent laughter, Scotty going into full belly laughs on the next couch, Walker's low chuckles joining in. “I'm sorry, guys, but we look like a bad rock band in a really tacky holovid.”

“More like the menu at Jumbo John's House of Wanton Man-Love.” Bones begins to laugh. “You think this dress makes me the madam?”

“Know what, Bones? I think that dress makes you the daily special.” 

“I'd pay the extra.” 

Said in Walker's booming, deep tones, it's hilarious and I double up afresh, Chekov's cheeks flushing as he joins in, then Drury, all of us hooting with laughter as Spock sits silently and watches us all with an eyebrow hiked to his precise 'Golly, humans can be so tiresome' degree. Then finally, after a few minutes of mindless hilarity, the storm passes and we start to calm down, breathing out the last few laughs on shaky breath.

“Sorry, Spock. Put it down as a typically hysterical human reaction to unreasonable stress.”

A steady look tells me he's way ahead of me on that. “An understandable response, Captain.”

“Yeah.” I rub over the back of my neck, noting everyone looks embarrassed now, Chekov pulling the sides of his slit skirt together over his thigh awkwardly, Drury and Walker both staring at the fruit bowl as if it holds the key to our escape. “Maybe. But, that aside, I'm not sure we've got time to waste, so I apologize to you all. Let's find out what's been going on.”

I give them all an update on my morning so far, my failed attempts to contact the ship and how I've not managed to coax Sextus into taking the situation seriously. We go around the room, Scotty reporting similarly that his husband-to-be, the head engineer he'd been seated with at dinner, had politely refused all demands Scotty made about contacting any crew, including requests to speak with me. Otherwise he, and similarly Drury and Walker, had been treated with friendly good manners, beyond being drugged and stripped overnight. 

Chekov has much the same to report. His new partner isn't the enormous Pingian he was initially greeted by, but instead apparently some kind of aging Pingian holy man who has barely muttered two words to Chekov so far. Bones is paired off with their Head of Healing, Pishn, who'd kept Bones' cup topped up so efficiently at dinner last night. As with me, they'd both been refused access to the ship or any other crew, and Chekov had spent most of the morning trying to figure out the door system with no success. I look over to Spock, hoping he's got something more positive to impart.

“How about you, Commander? Has your day been more productive than ours?”

“I regret to inform you that it has not, Captain. My tricorder has been removed from my possession, and the boundaries of my scope of movement has been restricted to a range of three rooms, until this meeting. As with Ensign Chekov, I have primarily focused my time on the conundrum of the door mechanism, which I believe operates in much the same manner as our own aboard the Enterprise.”

“Interesting.” I give up on the peach, which has too much of the sickly-sweet herb taste of tritanium for me to stomach, and try to wash some of the flavor down with a gulp of water. “In what way?”

“I have observed that the doors appear to activate automatically on sensing the presence of a Pingian native. In some instances, the activation appears to be an instant response to all Pingians presenting at that door, so far as I have been able to note. In others, there is a pause of approximately point two five four seconds in each instance, which leads me to conclude that there may be some automated system in place registering the individual waiting, and processing an authorization.” He looks directly at me, his expression a shade more intense than usual. “I do not believe that the control mechanism is manually operated.”

Fuck. “Meaning we're prisoners in whatever room we're held within, unless we figure out how the automated system works.”

“If my hypothesis is correct.”

“Oh, of course it is.” Bones rolls his eyes and tosses the last of his handful of grapes back in the fruit bowl. “God knows I keep hoping you'll be wrong one time soon, and something tells me today is not that day.”

“Bones . . .” I let that be admonishment enough. We're all glum enough by now without starting to snipe at each other, our upcoming marriages this afternoon no more than an hour or so off by my estimation, and no escape in sight. “Good work on the doors, at least it gives us something to focus on first. Your husband's going to be Padnus? Have you spoken with him, asked to contact the ship, anything?”

He looks away from me and, if it had been anyone else, I'd have described it as being in a hurried manner, almost like he's embarrassed or uncomfortable about something. I notice he swallows before answering me, a brief pause as he stares fixedly at a point on the floor next to the table. “I will be married to Padnus this afternoon.”

“. . . And?” I know him too well by now to let him get away with that. There's something he's not saying. “Spock?” 

Just like that, his face clears as Spock fully takes control of whatever's bothering him, his eyes raising calmly to meet mine. “You have come to an incorrect supposition, as had I. Male Pingian culture is not purely monogamous, and it does not restrict itself to monogamous pairs.”

No. Oh, Spock. “Damn.”

I can see from his eyes that he knows I've understood. “I am to be the subject of a polygamous marriage. My husband will be Padnus, but also the hereditary warlord Sneck. I have met with them both this morning and Sneck has stated his intention to keep me from having further contact with Starfleet personnel, so this may be my last opportunity to speak with any of you.”

“I won't let that happen.”

“You may not have a choice.”

“Hey, being consort to a world leader's got to have some perks, right?” I lean over towards him, remembering at the last second that I can't pat his knee or his arm like I usually would, because that's a whole lot of naked skin I'd be petting. “I'll make sure to keep track of all of us. I don't know how, but I'll do it. I promise.”

An eyebrow that wonders how the hell I plan to do that, and a nod that says he hopes I manage it anyhow. “Yes, Captain.”

“Okay. So, we need a plan, and we've not got much time left before we're dragged to the altar. Any ideas?”

~*~

Sextus had been correct. My consent wasn't needed for our marriage to be finalized. Hell, my presence was barely required, as I didn't have to speak or even grunt at any point, but instead simply stand there flanked by Stoods and Pake, who'd both gently take hold of my wrists and hold me firm on the few occasions I turned and tried to walk away or to sit in protest. It had all taken place in the largest cavern we'd been within so far, something akin to a cathedral, I'm guessing, with throngs of handsome Pingians seated on pads on the floor, arms wrapped around each other. 

Chekov's husband first claimed a pale, quaking Pavel as his own without even a kiss, his sand-colored skin muted in its sheen, his green hair much paler than the younger Pingians around us. He'd taken Pavel by both hands and pulled him into a hug, lifting him off the floor and placing him to the other side of him across a tiled line on the ground by his feet. Then one by one, starting first with Sextus and myself, he'd asked our husbands to do the same, publicly stating their claiming of us before lifting us up and over the line. The massed Pingians kissed and cheered with each lift, looking like they were having a better time than anyone involved in the marriage party.

So I watched as Bones glared skywards, his muscular Pingian wrapped in a similar robe to his own, lifting Bones across the line with a broad grin. Drury, uncomfortable and blushing as Sextus's personal secretary shouts his claiming at the top of his voice before excitably hoisting Drury across the line. Walker's husband turns out to be barely bigger than Walker himself, a matter of centimeters and a similar build, but he still manages to lift Walker easily over the line as if Walker's half his size. And now, my gut twisting in anger as I watch Padnus and this particularly huge Pingian, who doesn't seem as friendly or as prone to smiles as the rest of them, join hands and lift Spock together over the tiled line on the floor, Spock gazing passively at a point on the wall beyond while I try not to grind my teeth together.

“Come, my hussband. It is done, and you are truly my own.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” I can't stop noticing how Sneck looks at Spock, his massive fingers lying on Spock's shoulder as he narrows his eyes and bends down to whisper something in Spock's ear that makes Spock's expression shift into something uncomfortable to look at. “Gimme a sec with my men before they leave.”

“You know that I cannot alwayss indulge you so, my Jamess.”

“Sure you can. You're keeping us prisoner, so you can do whatever the hell I ask to make us comfortable.”

“Of course, we wish our hussbands to be in the mosst comfort.” He brushes his thumb over my chin. “One minute, little one. No longer.”

“Commander, Doctor. Men.” 

They all turn towards me, Sneck keeping a possessive hold on Spock's shoulder, Drury's husband's arm laying around his neck, Chekov's preacher holding onto Chekov's hand like a father with his son. 

“I'll do what I can to have us all meet soon. In the meantime, you know what to do. We're all in agreement?”

They all nod, and I give them a grin, winking at Chekov. “We've gotten through worse than this. I'll see you all soon, so hold it together. Understood? Dismissed.”

I don't have the power here to dismiss a soul, but it seems to settle them down and into our usual roles, reminding us all of what we'd agreed earlier. We're Starfleet, and no amount of forced marriage or imprisonment can change that.

“Sweet one.” I already recognize Sextus's touch at my wrist, more gentle yet more insistent than that of my attendants. “Enough. Time for our privacy.”

I follow him down the tunnels leading back to the Residence of the Sen, a fifteen minute walk, which is more like a jog for me, trying to keep up with Sextus's long stride. I think I recognize a few turns or doors, aware that I must've seen so little of the Pingian's underground system if over a million males live in this compound. Spock's right – the doors dissolve open at each one Sextus walks towards until we arrive at his, or our, I suppose, private quarters, where we wait a beat for each door to come into being for us to walk through. The bedroom is the same as the one I woke in this morning, a single torch burning this time rather than the several I'd seen earlier. The door's rock reforms the moment Sextus steps more than a meter away from it, and I wonder if the system has anything to do their physiology, perhaps. 

“You are tired, hussband? Hungry? Thirssty?”

“No.” I lean back against the wall, not wanting to sit on the bed with him but there's no other furniture in the room. “I ate enough at the pre-wedding feast earlier. I note you didn't drug us this time.”

“Now, my sweet, we are as one. You musst forgive us our methods.”

“I'll consider forgiving you once I'm back in my uniform and on my ship with a signed guarantee from your people that you won't ever try this shit again.”

He flinches at the curse word. “Jamess, there is no need for such discourtessy.”

“I'm your prisoner, Sextus. Not your husband, not your lover. I'm your hostage, so I feel absolutely no need to be polite to you.”

I watch as he starts to unstrap his sandals, revealing wide, strong-looking feet the same dry, sandy color as the rest of him. Then he stands and there's only one garment left for him to remove before bed. His thumbs hook into the waist of his shorts and I close my eyes.

“There is no need to be shy, little one. You will learn the elementss of my body soon enough.”

“No, Prime Sen. I won't.” 

I wait till I hear the slide of his body against the sheets, the sound of Sextus settling the new quilt around himself, before I open my eyes and walk around to the far side of the bed to grab one of the oversized pillows there. Then I throw it down to the furry rug on the floor at the end of the bed, as far from Sextus as I'm able to get. I hear the sheets rustle once more as he sits up in puzzlement. 

“Jamess? What are you doing?”

The rug's not comfortable, the floor uneven beneath it no matter how thick it is, and I can already feel the cold seeping through it. It's not going to be a restful night, what with so little covering my skin as it is. I settle down onto my side, curling up into myself for warmth. 

“My Jamess, I musst insist that you join me in the bed.”

“You planning to physically put me in there? Or would that go against what you said about me coming to you by choice?”

“You are being foolissh.”

“Thought so. Good night, Prime Sen.”

“The pleasures you are denying yoursself . . .”

“And yet somehow I'll live.” I turn onto my back and gaze up at the tritanium glittering overhead in the light of the single torch. “None of you will touch us, Sextus. I hope you're finally paying attention to me when I tell you that you can imprison us underground with you here in these dingy caves of yours. You can lift us bodily across some meaningless line. You can do whatever you want, but, unless you're planning to resort to forcing yourselves on us, your nights will be spent alone in an empty bed.”

I hear him sigh, the light of the torch dimming as he moves back beneath the quilt, leaving me there at the foot on his rug, examining my pillow to see if there's any kind of cover I can take off it to use for some warmth. 

“Very well, sweet one. You will find us a patient people. I expect that you will suffer through the night, but I wissh you dreams of our love, and the joining that we are destined to enjoy soon enough.”

I don't answer and close my eyes, willing sleep to come. Instead my mind goes first to the Enterprise, which I imagine must still be circling this planet, searching for us, trying whatever they have to in order to get us back. I know they won't leave, I'm sure of it in every part of me and it warms me through as I tug the pillow over my body, cradling my head in my arms. But, just as I feel the dull fuzz of sleep beginning to bleed into my bones, I think of Spock, and of Sneck's hand heavy and strong on his naked shoulder, and the cold starts to grow until I ache with it.


	3. Chapter 3

This is absolute bliss. After three nights on a cold floor, the hot spring in my bathing chamber is beginning to soothe out the bone-deep aches and pains, the muscle cramps that keep me awake half the night while I look longingly up at the vast bed next to me. The bed's so big that I could easily sleep in there while avoiding Sextus, but it's the principal of the thing, even though I'm so tired I swear I'm on the verge of hallucination. 

Three nights of discomfort, three days of excruciating tedium. Stoods and Pake discourage chatting and tend to retreat through the nearest door if I ask too many questions. Pingian culture is limited to pictographic literature, which I can't read; art, which is all obscene, awesomely so but the last thing I need to be doing is filling my head with naked, boning Pingians; and public wrestling bouts, which only happen once a six-week Pingian month. I have a feeling they're probably a nude activity, too. It's on tonight, and Sextus is beside himself with excitement over the opportunity to parade me publicly. 

He tries to seduce me every time we're in a room together for more than three minutes so I limit our contact as much as I can. I'm bored out of my mind, slouching my way around various low couches in the Sen's Residence, staring at the walls as I try not to fret over what's happening with the others. What's happening with Spock and the look in his eyes as Sneck had muttered something into Spock's ear after their wedding. The thought of it turns my stomach every time, and I can't stop niggling at it like a toothache. Escape seems impossible. The inability to do much of anything about it is making me want to climb the walls.

I float on my back in the heated water, gazing at the glittering tritanium that's holding us prisoner deep underground. I'm getting used to the sweet tang of it in the air I breathe, all the food I eat, even the drops of the bath's water on my lips. The heat's finally getting too much and I have to swim over towards to the steps to get out, but I can't deny myself a few seconds longer to work out the last few remaining aches. I duck under with my eyes closed, feeling the sting of the hotter water as I sink to the bottom near the springs, letting my mind wander as I push myself back up. My thoughts head for the away team, as usual, imagining how they're getting on or if their so-called husbands have been any more useful than Sextus has. 

He's politely, sweetly, even, refused each one of my requests so far, implying it would be for my own good to forget about my old life, my old friends. He's maddening, never losing his temper or patience, holding all the power in those enormous hands of his and insisting on treating me like some pampered, adored pet. I'm not much closer to figuring out how the doors work, although I'm beginning to suspect that it could be something to do with the fine chain I've noticed that all Pingians wear around their left ankle. Even Sextus, and it's the one thing he never takes off, even when he's naked and climbing into bed. I asked about it and he'd given me that serene smile, the one that makes me want to smack it off his face sometimes. 

“It is none of your concern, sweet.”

“They're nice. Can I have one?”

He'd looked momentarily taken aback, looking down at his own as if he'd forgotten it was there. “You wissh for this? I could have a special one made, jusst for you.”

'Special'? I figured that means 'non-functional', but I'd agreed to it anyway. Anything's worth a shot. I exit the water and climb up the steps to sit on the top one, dangling my legs in the steaming baths, watching the ripples made by my feet creating waves of light in the glowing turquoise water. I need to see the away team, and can't think of a single way to make it happen. Even if I could, we'd be watched wherever we were, maybe listened to. No point creating an escape plan when your captors can monitor the progress of it. I look around my little cave, my one private sanctuary where I don't have either Stoods or Sextus looming over my shoulder, appreciating that I get this if nothing else.

Damn. _Damn!_ I'm such a dumbass. It's taken me three days to figure this out? I smack my forehead with my palm and jump up to go dry myself off and get dressed, thankfully in a pair of shorts a little less tight than they had been after I'd complained to Sextus how uncomfortable I was. They still fit like they're sprayed on, difficult to tug up over my damp skin as I pull them into place, arranging my junk as comfortably as possible before pulling the sheer tunic on over my head and shaking the last of the water out of my hair with my fingers. 

A glance in the tritanium mirror confirms that my beard's really starting to come in now, a darker brown than my hair. Pingian males don't have any body hair apart from their eyelashes, eyebrows and head hair, and Sextus is too fascinated and turned-on by my beard growth to indulge me in the creation of a razor or similar, Sextus keen on rubbing the pads of his thumbs through it until I jerk my head away. I'm not used to it and it itches, driving me nuts. I rake my fingers through it irritably for a second before crossing to where I know the door is, picking up the gleaming tritanium orb Stoods showed me and striking it against the wall three times in order to summon him or Pake now I've finished my bath.

“I need to see Prime Sen.”

Pake's cheeks deepen in color as they always do when he's alone and needs to speak with me directly, a warm gold against the pale sand of his shining skin. “Your hussband works at this hour, Jamess of Sextus.”

“I don't give a flying fuck what he's doing, I need to see him. Take me to him.”

Pake looks down at the floor as his blush deepens. They're all unsettled by my cursing, a little disgusted, a little aroused by it. “I will take you there, but I cannot promisse that we will be blessed with his time.”

“He's my husband, he'll see me.”

“Very well. Pleasse, follow with me.”

I know the route now. It's taken me awhile but I'm starting to get a feel for the few tunnels I travel through regularly, taking note of irregularities in the rock formations, the placement of the torches or glowing rocks that provide illumination, and even the regular Pingian faces I notice leering openly at me as we pass them by. We pause in front of Sextus's bridge room's towering wall, the door dissolving into place, and Sextus is already rising from his throne to cross the room to greet me, his arms closing around me to lift me up into a warm hug.

“My sweet one, you have come to me!”

“We've talked about this. Put me down.”

“Now, Jamess, you can give me thiss one simple comfort.” He squishes me tighter against his chest for a second, his nose rubbing in my damp hair as he makes a contented sigh. “Your scent is always strongesst after you have bathed.”

“I guess I need to scrub harder. I said, put me down.” 

Another squeeze and he places me back on the floor, stepping back from me and I notice as usual his men staring up from their workstations to gaze at me with hungry violet eyes. 

“What can I assist you with thiss morning, my hussband?” 

He sits back in his throne and pats his knee. Whatever it takes, I guess. I sit down across his thick thigh, allowing him to pull me back against his chest in the habit he's developed. 

“I was expecting to see my people this morning for our ritual washing, but nobody was waiting in my bathing room. Can you find out for me if there's some problem?”

“'Ritual washing'?” 

_Come on, little fishie. There's a nice juicy worm right here on this hook waiting for you._ “You know. How human males bathe together every three days, as a mark of unity?”

I look up and back at him to see him frowning in puzzlement, his sage green eyebrows drawn together. “I have no awareness of such a thing.”

“No? Huh.” I try to look puzzled myself. “I thought you guys had familiarized yourselves with our customs.” 

“As had I.”

“It's important. It's a very private ritual, and not something we talk about much, but I can't function without it.”

“No?” He looks suspicious, which I suspect has more to do with him not liking the idea of me bathing with other men rather than any notions I may have of plotting escape.

“It settles me for the days ahead, the non-sexual touching of our fellow males to remind us of our collective virility and strength. You understand?”

My heart's thumping in my chest as I wait to see if he takes the bait or not. Sextus isn't stupid, none of them are, but this crush or obsession or whatever it is they feel for us seems to blind him to my worse points, including deviousness. I guess it's working this time, as he looks at me with narrowed purple eyes for a long moment before nodding. 

“If it is important to you as you say, then how could I refusse you?”

“I appreciate that you want what's best for me, Sextus.” 

He beams, loving it whenever I use his name as opposed to his title. I'm starting to use it as a reward for whenever he does something I want him to. “I will contact the hussbands of your team and have them brought to your bath chamberss this day.”

“Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

A heavy fingertip reaches up to stroke through my stubble, along my jaw and over my chin to rub over my bottom lip as I fight to not pull away from his touch this time. “I would have you be happy, little one. It woundss me to imagine that you are not.”

“One step at a time, Sextus. Perhaps I'll be in a more cheerful mood once my ritual's finished.”

“I do hope so. I wissh only the besst for you.”

 _Release me, then, jackass._ “I know.” 

His smile is so genuine that it reminds me once more that they honestly don't seem to have any idea that holding us like this is wrong. “I am pleassed. Have you eaten, my Jamess?”

“Not yet. I was expecting to eat with my men.”

“They will have you for your bathing ritual, so I claim you now for breaking our fasst, yes?” 

He strokes down the side of my face, his finger tracing the curve of my ear and I can't stop myself from moving away from it this time, slipping off his knee and standing back from his throne, forcing a smile as I do so.

“Sure, why not?”

“I am mosst happy with this. We shall feasst in our private chamberss.”

Great. Another morning of the permanently-frisky Sextus chasing me around the breakfast table while I try to avoid his kisses and insistent hands. This is not how I'd imagined the captaincy of a starship would be. I miss my phaser banks.

~*~

“What the . . .? Mr. Scott, would you like to explain how the hell you got that uniform back?”

Scotty happily pats his red shirt. “I asked fer it, sir. Turns out, Srash doesnae much care what I wear.”

“Simple as that?” I look down at my sheer tunic, the high cut of my shorts that my nuts might make an escape from any minute now. “I don't think that'd work with Sextus.”

“Or Scads.” Drury swirls his feet in my bathing pool glumly where he's sitting at the edge, looking down at his roll of pudgy stomach. “He even likes how my gut hangs out.”

Scotty laughs, looking around himself at my bathing chamber. “Horny bastards, aren't they? But, turns out, Srash is quite alright. We've had a few good talks and he knows his stuff. I have to say, this is a nice place you've got yerself, sir. My bath's in a damp hole.”

“Mine, too, but then we're not housed in splendor within the royal palace.” Bones enters, shooting an annoyed look over his shoulder at his attendant as the Pingian leaves back down the disappearing tunnel. He eyebrows at me, which isn't nearly as cutting as usual now he's dressed in knee-length velvet draping. “I always did say you'd land on your feet one day.”

“Bones.” I grab his elbows to squeeze, stupidly relieved to see him. “It's good to see you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you, too. Communal bathing? Tell me this isn't going to be a naked thing.” 

“It's all I could think of, and I think it'd be better for all of us if we keep this clothed.” 

Chekov enters, dressed as before in his sheer tunic and skirt, looking a little subdued but otherwise okay as he looks determinedly at my face and nothing else to nod and 'Sir' at me. But then my bathroom works its magic and he notices his surroundings with a soft gasp of pleasure, looking up and around himself at the cavern's glittering walls as he tucks up his skirt, stripping off his sandals to sit next to Drury and dangle his feet once I give him the okay. Then Walker's here, nodding a greeting to me as he joins the others at the edge of my pool. Now we're waiting on Spock once more, and I can't help but worry at the niggle of concern inside me with every minute that passes. 

We make small talk. We compare beard growth, Scotty in the lead with me not far behind. We confirm that we're okay and getting used to the weird sweet taste of Pingian cuisine, that we're all due to attend the wrestling later tonight, and try to scoot around the subject of husbands and escape until Spock gets here. After what I figure has to be at least twenty minutes, I get a look from Bones that tells me he's as concerned about Spock as I am, and I get to my feet to heft the tritanium globe against the wall to call Stoods.

“Wish they had some kind of telephony system in place.” I bend to put the globe down into the small hollow it usually rests in. “Having to bash a wall with a rock seems strange considering the technological range we know they possess.” 

“Zhey've got comms.” I turn from staring at the wall in readiness for Stoods' arrival to looks at Chekov in question. 

“What do you know?”

“Paznus, I've seen him hold conversations wia a communications system inside his temple.” He blushes fiercely, hanging his head. “He likes to take me to his work.”

“No, that's good. That's great, use it and keep your eyes open. So, that's another thing they're keeping from us, comms and doors.”

Speaking of which, my bathroom door dissolves into place as Stoods steps through it, his purple eyes taking all of us in as he draws in a heavy breath. 

“Jamess of Sextus, your bathing is complete?”

“No, one of my men isn't here. Spock of Padnus and Sneck?”

A nod as his eyes trail over Chekov, Scotty, then linger a moment on Drury. “Spock of Sneck and Padnuss is not to attend.”

My breath catches in my throat, a sick feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. “Why not?”

He drags his eyes from Drury to look down at me. “I am uncertain. You wissh for me to discover the reasson?” 

“Yes. It's important for the ritual that we're all here. Wait.” I reach out to take hold of his forearm, which is as thick as one of my thighs. He looks down at it then at me, his cheeks heating at my touch. “We don't have time for you to walk all the way down to Sextus and back. You can't contact him by any other means?”

“I assk that you do not touch me where it is unnecessary.” I drop my hand away and he visibly relaxes, blowing out an unsteady breath. “My thankss. The caress of your soft flessh is difficult to dissregard.”

Yikes. They really are horny bastards. “No problem.” 

He looks troubled, like I'm asking him to break protocol or something.“If it is truly urgent – ”

“It is.”

“Then I will speak with Prime Sen outsside of this chamber. Pleasse, one moment.”

“I'd rather talk to him myself.”

Stoods' eyes widen in vexation and he steps back towards the wall, opening the door again and hastily backing through it. “That is not possible. One moment.”

“Damn.” I turn back to the pool. “Worth a shot.”

“You zhink zhe commander is okay, sir?”

I sit down next to Chekov, giving him what I hope is a reassuring smile, dipping my feet into the steaming waters. 

“Commander Spock's tough. It'd take more than getting married to break him.” I pray that I'm right. “We might as well start planning. This room's our one safe spot. I've been promised we're not under surveillance in here, so keep any relevant discussion to our meetings here, which will be every three days. It's the best I could come up with, so we're going to have to work for further contact beyond these meetings. Anyone got any progress to report?”

“Aye, sir.” 

It's tough to pay attention when all I want to do is race down the tunnels to Spock and boot the gigantic golden ass of that brutish husband of his around the room. Yeah, out of all of us Spock's probably the toughest physically, and he's not exactly a mentally delicate flower either, but there's something about him that draws out my protective side like nobody else does. He once proved to me clearly that, out of the two of us, he has the ass-kicking upper hand, but all I want to do is race to his rescue. I hate that I can't fix this, hate it with every atom of my body until my gut's flooded with stinging bile that rises up my throat. 

“Good work.” I have a vague enough idea of what Scotty's been reporting, and fight to return my attention to the current discussion.

“Srash is fine with explaining any of their technology, he's very proud of everything they've achieved. You want me to ask about anything specific? How the doors work?”

“Not yet, I don't want any interest that we have in them getting back to Sextus.” What seems like the hint of an offended look crosses Scotty's face, like he's pissed I questioned his husband's loyalty. “Is there a problem with that, Mr. Scott?” 

“No, sir, it's just . . . Srash wouldnae breathe a word, I'm sure of it.” An awkward pause runs through the cavern, and Scotty gives an embarrassed cough. “I only mean ta say, I know we can trust him, sir.”

“Well, that's great news.” He looks mollified. “What would be useful is if you can get him to start going over some of the internal workings of their tech with you, and get your hands on some tools. Then, if we manage to get a functional chain or whatever else activates the door systems, you can take a look at them and find out what we're dealing with. And it'd be a great help if we do have one of them supporting us.”

Is that a blush? “Aye, sir.”

I look around the cave at them all, not wanting to single Scotty out because God knows I hope my instincts are wrong on that one. “We're all firm on our vow of celibacy?”

They all 'Yessir' at me, Scotty's eyes round and innocent as he does so. 

“You two.” I nod at Drury and Walker. “Pay attention at the wrestling tonight, as we need to start figuring out where we stand in terms of potential combat. We know they're bigger and stronger than us, and, from our welcome banquet, that they pride themselves on their gladiatorial nature. I haven't seen any existence of arms of any kind. Get to know their strengths and weaknesses, weaponry, ask as many questions as you can without provoking suspicion. Ensign Chekov?”

“Yes, Keptin?” Look at him, so anxious for something to occupy that terrifying brain of his. 

“I need you to concentrate on the comms system. We need to contact the ship and find out what's going on up there, and to let them know we're alive and unharmed.” My mind flashes to Spock and I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment to force the worry away. “We've not seen any further Enterprise crew down here, so I'm guessing the Pingians are having trouble getting more personnel to beam down.” 

“You zhink zhey're still in orbit?” Pavel's worried eyes tell me he's not sure. 

“Are you kidding? You think any of the mob up there are going to miss the opportunity to see their Captain in that outfit?” 

Chekov grins and relaxes, and I shoot Bones a grateful look. “Doctor McCoy –”

Bones hold up a hand. “Don't tell me – find out what they drugged us with the first night, if it works on them, and if I can get my hands on it or anything like it. I've started displaying fake symptoms in front Pishn in the hope I'll eventually persuade him to let me take a look at its pharmacology, plus I've visited their primary medical facility to educate myself on their physiology and have Pishn's support to do that daily, so I'm on it.”

“Good. I'll see if I can get some method of recording the details of the different routes we're learning so we can start to generate a map of the tunnels. I'll also keep trying the diplomatic release route with Prime Sen.” I bend to dip a hand in the steaming water, bringing up a handful in my cupped palm to drench my hair and face, patting it down over my chest to look like I've bathed again. “Get a little wet, guys, then I think it's about time we're done for today. We'll see each other later at the wrestling.”

“But what about Commander Spock?” Walker voices the concern at the back of all our minds. 

“I promised you all I'd keep track of every one of us.” I say it resolutely, no room for doubt in either their eyes or my mind. “I intend to keep that promise, Lieutenant.”

~*~

“I can't wear this.”

“My people will want to see the famed Jamess of Sextus dissplayed to his best, my sweet one.”

I blink at myself in the mirror a few more times, hoping this will turn out to be some kind of masochistic nightmare and that I'll wake fully clothed. “I'm almost naked. I'm not comfortable with the idea of thousands of Pingians looking at me like this. Hell, I'm not comfortable with _you_ seeing me like this.”

Sextus comes to stand behind me at his dressing chamber's polished mirror, his hands heavy on my shoulders as his head towers above mine in our reflection. “You are breathtaking, hussband.”

“That's one word for it.”

I turn, frowning at the reflection of my naked ass again. I'm in a silvery-gray thong that cups my junk and thrusts it up and out, making me look hung all to shit. Which would be great if I got to wear my shorts over it. But no, it's just the thong, my asscheeks fully bare, and a substantial number of curls sprouting out the top where the thong's so skimpy it sits low on my pubic bone. No matter how I tug it this way and that or tuck whatever, it's balls or pubes, so pubes win. My only other garment doesn't qualify as such, to my mind, simply a collection of fine chains that drape over my shoulders, arms and chest, not reaching my belly button. I look less like an exotic dancer and more like something that might decorate the top of an entertainingly dirty Christmas tree. I shake Sextus's hands off my shoulders and turn away from the mirror.

“Nope, not going to happen. I'm not wearing this. Where's my tunic gone?”

“My heart, I have something else for you.” I ignore him, stomping out into our bedroom cavern to see if Sextus's assistant put my other outfit in here, because it's disappeared from the dressing room where I'd left it. He follows, holding a slim case. “It is something you requessted.”

“What? My chain?”

“Yess, and I have a surprise for you.” 

Sextus flips open the case, one of their hair-thin ankle chains gleaming inside. He lifts it out with his thick fingers and holds it towards the wall, the bedroom's door instantly dissolving into place, then vanishing once more as he draws it back. I fake a nonchalance I don't feel. 

“Oh. That's how the door works?”

“Yess, little one. I am trussting you with a limited range of movement, a few rooms so that you might not rely on your attendants to such a degree. In return, you will wear this,” he looks down at my body, his eyes growing heavy-lidded in a way that I feel all the way down to my thong-cupped nuts. “For me on this evening. I wissh every persson to witness the glory of that which I will possess soon enough.”

“For the fiftieth time, there'll be no possessing of anything or anyone.” I look down at the thong again, mentally weighing up the potential for humiliation to the importance of getting my hands on that chain. It's not that I have any problem with my body, but more I didn't expect I'd have to display it to a stadium full of strangers. But this chain could be the literal key to our escape. I sigh, excepting the inevitable, holding out my hand for it. “Okay, I'll wear the stupid outfit. Give it here.”

The chain's so light it's unnoticeable around my ankle as we walk up a towering tunnel towards an echoing roar, a crowd of what must be thousands. The air's cooler and damper up here further from the planet's core as we join a wide thoroughfare, the large public tunnel packed with Pingians making their way to the wrestling, and it feels as though they all turn as one to stare at my naked skin. Although I don't have enough hands to cover up everything I need to, being so intensely wanted like this by so many is a powerful sensation considering how small and slight I am in comparison with them all. For a moment in time, I hold them all in the palm of my birthday-suited hand.

The crowd of giants presses in on us, murmurs of my new name as hundreds of purple eyes strip me of the few threads of clothing I'm wearing, and I hold up my chin, standing tall. Damn right I'm hot stuff, assholes. You can look but you can't touch. Sextus's private guard, a few unusually tall Pingians, push back the crowd as Sextus leans down towards me, a satisfied smile splitting his handsome face. 

“You see, little one? How they desire you, how they recognize my might and vigor in claiming such a one for myself?”

Great, I'm a trophy wife. Three years of Academy training, which was tougher than I ever intend to admit to anyone, and it all comes down to how good my ass looks in a thong. “Difficult to avoid it at such close quarters.”

“Do not pout, little one.” Sextus puts his arm around me and pulls me against him, the satiny skin of his torso cool against mine as his guard push on through the crowds with us. “They worship your loveliness, as they should. You are the most exquisitely alluring thing in all creation.”

Three nights of no sleep and a day's burning worry over Spock finally boils over as I shove his arm off my shoulders rudely, stepping away from him as much as I'm able to. I like Sextus, I hate to admit it but I do, but his constant, meaningless adulation of me is grating on my every last nerve. “No, I'm not. I know I'm okay looking, and my butt has induced religious experiences in more than a couple of people, but I'm not the most exquisitely alluring thing in any creation and you need to quit telling me stuff like that because it's pissing me off.”

I snap it at him, expecting to look up into his beautiful eyes to see hurt there, to see that I've managed to finally land a blow. But he smiles his usual condescending smile at me, his eyes softening with whatever stone-cold insanity inside his head passes for adoration. “You will come to see the truth, my only one. Much as you will come to love me as I love you, and to realize that our joining is –”

“'Destined in the stars themselves', yeah, I know.” He must've said mentioned that twenty times over in the past three days. “I'm not going to fall in love with you, Sextus.”

His smile shines down at me, his cheeks rosy with that constant, colorful iridescence. “You would not fight against it so, if you did not believe it to be possible. Come, we are here.”

The crowd roars louder than ever as Sextus enters the stadium and moves into the Sen's private viewing balcony, the noise of so many voices raised in happy greeting hitting me in a sonic wave of inestimable power. Sextus, ever the politician, takes it all in his stride, the muscles in his back rippling as he raises his arms up to wave, his naked chest swelling with pride as he acknowledges the crowds to further cheers. Then he steps back, his hand pressing into the small of my back as he urges me forward to display to the crowd, who bay their approval as I scowl at the arena's sandy floor, and loathe myself for sucking my gut taut. It's like Sextus is some barbarian king displaying the spoils of war, a throwback to their planet's combative history. I tolerate for a matter of seconds before shrugging off his hand and stepping back.

“That's enough, Prime Sen. You may not understand the reasons why, but being exhibited like that, like this,” I indicate my lack of attire, the chains swinging around my pecs and arms. “Offends me. It's disrespectful.”

Any dignity or bite in my words is lost as I jump up to take a seat at one of the benches, the smooth tritanium surface cold against my bare asscheeks, my legs dangling in front of me like a kid in an adult's chair. I want my damn uniform back, and the gravitas it gave me that I had no idea I'd come to rely on so much. Sextus takes his seat next to me and I can already tell what's going to come out of his mouth before he opens it. It makes me think how, although people like Spock and Bones are predictable enough in their own ways, I'm blessed with a surfeit of original thought around me, my friends and team an infinite resource of entertainment and diversion compared with the corrupted, looping data file that's Sextus's only mode of conversation.

“It cannot be insult when they admire and lust after you so.” He strokes a finger between two of the chains lying on my chest, and I slap his hand away, my temper flaring again. “Am I not even to have the slightest touch of your flessh, Jamess?”

“No. You get that? No. Never.” His attendants and guards are settling around us, no doubt able to hear every word I'm spitting at him. “If you think otherwise, you're deluding yourself.”

He shrugs blithely, gazing out at the torchlit wrestling arena. “Time will tell, little one. Enough discussion of what will not be. Relax, and enjoy the fesstivities.”

Sick of bashing my head against the wall of Sextus's casual disregard of my opinions, I take a look around, eager to see if I can spot any of the away team with their husbands. Sextus reassured me they'd be sitting close to us in the seating held by for Pingians of high status, and I see Chekov sitting a firm foot away from his robed Pingian, Paznus, I remind myself. Chekov's wary expression lightens when he notices me, and I send him a two-fingered salute that he returns with a smile. Beyond him by some distance, I then find Drury, glumly regarding his fingernails and scratching at his beard while his husband chatters to him and waves his hands at various points of interest, then Stoods looking serene and untroubled as he relaxes back against the broad chest of a handsome Pingian, who gives me a dark look when he notices me giving Stoods a friendly smile. That must be the lord of his heart, Pinsnah, instantly placing his arm around Stoods' shoulders with a possessive glower in my direction.

“I thought you said Spock would be here. I can't see him.” I've located all the others in the crowd, Scotty closest to where I'm sitting, Walker nearby, Bones a few rows behind me with a startled look of gleeful disbelief when he notices my outfit. 

“Hmm?” Sextus turns from where he's been speaking to one of his primary advisors. “You musst remind me, my sweet.”

“Commander Spock, my first officer.” He gives me a blank look. “The Vulcan?”

“Ah, of coursse. Spock of Sneck and Padnus.” His mouth twists in a cynical manner I've never seen on him before. “Sneck would never deign to grace us with his pressence until the fights themsselves are due to begin. They will be here and you will see that your colleague is well. I have invited them to seat themsselves within the Prime Sen's reserve, and Padnus would not give up so consspicuous a public honor.”

My impatience to see Spock and find out how he's doing jars uneasily with the thought of him sitting close to me like this. I don't think it's in any rule book, but I have a feeling that captains are best viewed by their essential crew in a uniformed capacity rather than in a too-skimpy silver jock. But I'm anxious, almost desperate to know that he's okay, as much as I'm worried that I won't be able to do a damn thing about it if he isn't. 

“There, you see?” Sextus's voice takes on an acerbic cast, something I didn't think he was capable of. “The bouts will begin in a matter of minutes, and here is Sneck, alwayss too grand to lower himsself to the matter of social nicety. The warlords dismiss anything so pedesstrian as converssation with commoners.”

Wow. Bitchy Sextus. That's someone I might be able to get along with. I crane my head to where he's looking, trying to make Spock out in the crowds. “Yeah? I thought your people seemed to be sociable by nature.”

I locate Spock walking towards us flanked by his tall husbands, not a shining hair out of place, his eyes dark and untroubled above flawless cheekbones thrown into sharp relief by an impressive growth of beard, and relief cuts across my chest like a phaser burn, so intense that it's a physical sensation. He's still in the shorts and sheer tunic, and I suddenly get very aware I shouldn't pay too much attention to his naked chest and nipples while I'm wearing this thong. Sextus grunts, disgust apparent in his snide tone. 

“The likess of Sneck are a throwback to ancient times. We Pingians pride oursselves on our history, but we are a modern society, a meritocracy. Pandering to our passt by indulging the five families and their basstardized offspring is a worthless anachronissm. I have fought for everything that I am.” I feel his gaze on me, his sweet-mint breath against the side of my face, but can't bring myself to stop staring at Spock and looking for signs of trauma. “I have fought for everything that I have, everything that I would have, where Sneck and his fellowss are given it by accident of birth. One of the primary reasons for awarding him your Spock is in concession for the reformss my administration makes with regards to their influence.”

That gets my attention, as does a faint greenish mark on Spock's bicep. “And it never occurred to you that Sneck might take out any frustrations he feels towards your administration on the gift that you so benevolently bestowed on him?”

Sextus's brow wrinkles. “No, and I do not undersstand why you inssist on worrying so.”

I hop down from the bench and start to push past him, trying to knock his hands away from where they're holding my hips. “They're my people, and I'm responsible for their well-being.”

“But little one, the fights are beginning. You will wissh to obsserve.”

“Screw the fights, I need to speak with my first officer. Let me pass. Now, Sextus.”

He takes a deep breath and lets go of me, and I march off without a backwards glance. I couldn't say what I'm wearing right now, my body forgotten and my mind raging as I walk towards Spock and focus on that single green mark marring his pale skin. But I draw near and he registers what I'm wearing with a flicker of eyebrow and a slow blink at my exposed torso before he looks into my eyes. 

“Good evening, Captain.”

“I don't want to hear it.” I'm not thinking and grab his forearm to haul his bicep closer, Spock giving a swift intake of breath and a subtle flinch as I do so. But fuck Vulcan manners and their aversion to touch, I'm too pissed right now, examining the bruise on his arm before glaring up at Sneck, who is looking down at me in an equal mix of lust and annoyance. “What is this?”

“It is the arm of my hussband, Jamess of Sextus.”

“Don't give me that. This.” I jab a finger at Spock's bruise, before Spock's fingers gently circle my wrist and remove my hands from his skin, his unspoken 'Hands off the merchandise' coming across loud and clear.

“Yeah, okay, sorry for grabbing you like that. But, dammit, Spock, what's he been doing?”

“I am well, Captain. It is a minor contusion caused by a misunderstanding, nothing more.”

“Bullshit.” I narrow my eyes at Sneck in challenge, wondering if a knee to the nuts works the same with Pingians. “You hurt him again and I'll –”

“Pleasse! Jamess of Sextus, pleasse hear me.” Padnus joins us, placing his hands on both Spock and Sneck's shoulders, Sneck turning to rub the tip of his nose into Padnus's ear as if something as small and insignificant as me is no reason for concern. Arrogant asshole. “My Vulcan hussband speaks the truth. Sneck and I misstook his hesitation for playfulness, but we are now corrected on thiss. You will witness no further marking of his precious flessh.”

Oh. _Oh._ Acid bubbles up inside my stomach as I think about it, Sneck and Padnus having any idea that someone as reserved and disciplined as Spock would actively want them to force him into bed as some kind of sex game. I look at Spock once more, into his impenetrable eyes trying to figure out how far they got, and his mouth softens as he looks back at me.

“I am well, Jim, and our recent agreement stands.”

Our celibacy pledge. Goddamn his Vulcan ass, he shut them both out ,and this time the relief is so acute that I feel it in my knees, like I need to sit down suddenly. The crowd roars behind me as the wrestling begins with a fanfare, and Sneck yawns into Padnus's neck as if I'm boring the shorts off him. 

“May we be permitted to take our seats, hussband, or does your diminutive friend wissh to delay us further?”

Spock raises an eyebrow at me in question and I shake my head, holding out my hand towards Sextus with as many good manners as I can muster. “Of course not. Please, come and sit with us.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: dub-con sexual activity  
> FYI [Sextus](http://oi53.tinypic.com/5mb0m.jpg)

“What? That's bullshit.” I tug the pillows closer around me and frown up at the tritanium ceiling, which is glittering darkly in the torchlight. “You're imagining things.”

“The bed, Jamess. Come, hussband, I know you cannot be comfortable.”

I've got to give Sextus credit for his persistence but, no matter how cold and hard the floor is, this latest development means I'm further from sharing a bed with him than I've ever been. I can't remember the last time I got this mad at anybody without trying to land a punch or two.

“Don't try to change the subject. You allowed me to accuse Sneck when you know damn well you should've been honest with me from the start.”

Sextus gives a heavy sigh from across the bedroom where he's lying in perfect comfort in his huge bed, the one that calls to me in the middle of the night when I'm thread through with fatigue and praying for sleep. “I was trying to give our love its greatesst chance to flourissh, little one. You look at your Spock with the eyes of a man who wisshes to feast on aroussed flesh.”

“I don't look at Spock like anything. And he's not my Spock.”

“I know what my eyes witness, hussband.”

“You're deluded, and stop changing the subject. You should've told me.”

Another sigh, a rustle as he turns in bed, my traitorous mind imagining his naked body as he does so, the perfect curve of his asscheeks, the rippling, golden muscle of his stomach. “You are correct, my love. We should not keep thingss from one another. I was jealous, I admit it, but I wissh for you to be only mine in your soul.”

“I'm not yours in any meaning of the word, and don't plan to be.” The now-familiar cramps are starting up in my thighs and hips, cold creeping into my bones and deep muscle. The urge to crawl into a corner of the warm bed and stretch out is almost overwhelming, and experience tells me it'll only grow to the point of pain throughout the night. “Sneck's got one over on me now. I was so sure it was him preventing Spock from attending our ritual baths, and it turns out to be you all along? That's not okay.”

“I do not wissh for your Spock to caress your naked flessh in any circumsstance.” Sextus's face appears over the edge of the bed to stare down at me with those glowing purple eyes, his shoulders shining dimly in the low light. “It is a reasonable enough requesst, no? With the manner in which you both gaze at the other –”

“Spock and I don't gaze at each other!” I force my hands to uncurl from the fists they keep making in the pillows. “And, for the last time, he is not my Spock. Quit calling him that.”

A shrug, and Sextus disappears from my line of sight as he moves back into bed, his voice darkened with a hint of reproach. “I fear you are denying that which is mosst obvious to all those around you, and I do not wissh to endorsse such weakness of will. If you want him, and lusst for him and wissh for his loving caresses, it is surely better to acknowledge it, for both of our sakess.”

I let out an unsteady breath, trying to keep hold of the last remnants of my temper. This could be useful.

“Would you let me go if I told you I wanted someone else? Would that finally get it into that fat head of yours that I don't want any part of this so-called marriage?” I'd happily declare undying love for Scotty, even, if it got any of us out of this mess.

“I will never let you go, my Jamess. I would challenge that persson to a bout in the public ring, and tear his limbs from his torsso for daring to crave that which is mine alone. Do you now undersstand that I protect us all with my one small omission? I would not have you watch me desstroy your Spock. I would not seek to hurt you so, but it is my duty to protect that which is mine, you see?”

The patient, reasonable tone in which he describes it chills me deeper than the cold leaching into me from the floor. That, in addition to the fact that this argument sounds a little too much like a typical domestic, means I'm closing it out.

“I'm done with this discussion. I'm going to sleep.”

“The bed, little one. Do not allow thiss one missunderstanding to come between us. I have now agreed that your Spock may join your bathings, have I not?”

“Like I've said every night since I've been here, I'm not getting in that bed with you.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, knowing there's no point in saying what I'm about to say, but compelled to say it all the same. “This is about way more than your having kept Spock from me because of some ridiculous notion that Spock and I . . .whatever. Until you and your people begin to understand that you're holding us against our will, we're not going to get anywhere. You need to let me talk to my ship and to Starfleet, and to let us go.”

“If you so desire to sleep on the floor, little one, I will respect your decission to do so.” His voice drops lower, into an intimate, teasing tone that my body responds to automatically. My life would be so much easier right now if Sextus wasn't like some erotic god personified. The bed shifts beside me as he turns over and gets comfortable, his voice distorted with a yawn. “Know that my naked embrace is warm, and is waiting for you.”

“And it'll keep waiting so long as you deny me my rights as a Federation citizen.”

“Good night, sweet Jamess.”

I grunt dismissively and turn onto my side, trying to get comfortable and to ignore the cold, aware that yet another sleepless night is just beginning, and that I'll have too many hours to count to think about what Sextus said regarding me looking at Spock with hungry eyes. Like that's the only thing I've got to worry about right now, but it keeps playing over in my head as I hear Sextus start to snore softly across the room, always as fast to fall asleep as a puppy with a full stomach.

During a year in space, which isn't a long time on any substantive scale, I've learned a lot about those facts you always hold to be immutable. Night isn't always dark, for example. Black holes will generally fuck up your shit and should be avoided, but are survivable. Death isn't always sad, the summer isn't always warm, sixty minutes do not always make an hour. Sex is as pliable and changeable as gender. Evolution has a sick sense of humor, and mine isn't shared by much of the known galaxy, which wasn't much of a surprise, if I'm honest with myself.

But some things remain steadfast, no matter where you are. The absence of any source of light makes it impossible to see with the naked eye. Stuff will float around in absence of gravity, which also makes it challenging to move with any sense of determination no matter how furiously you flail your arms and legs. Life is miraculous, everybody poops, and trustworthy friends are beyond measurable value.

And Spock is a stone-cold fox, no matter who you are or what part of the galaxy you come from. To deny otherwise would be to deny that I breathe, or that my heart beats. Spock is beyond fine. Spock is this huge cosmic joke at my expense, an untouchable first officer who'll look at me with liquid eyes that don't bother these days to disguise a definite emotional reaction to me beating him at chess once again. And I'll want to jump over the table to knock the board wherever and rip his goddamn shirt off.

Or he'll raise an eyebrow at me across the Bridge, patiently and pedantically correcting the vague summary I've made of one of his duller reports, and I'll have to squeeze the armrests of my chair till I'm white-knuckled with the effort it takes not to march over there and tear off his pants so I can dig first my fingers then my teeth into his ass. He'll tilt his head all sassy and make a dry quip over his salad at the commissary table, forcing Bones to start grinding his teeth and me to wonder what noise Spock might make if I sucked on the tip of his ear. Or his balls. And then I'll be stuck there in this x-rated daydream about Spock, unable to move from the protection of the table or to respond to those around me. He's distracting. He's hypnotizing. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. So, yes, Sextus is correct – I look at Spock more than I should.

That shouldn't be my primary concern, given that we're being held against our will deep underground by a race that's able to defeat the limits of Federation tech. But I lie here, wanting him regardless as to the risk that puts us both at, unable to stop. So there are some universal laws that are unalterable, and a year's experience has proved to me that me desiring Spock is, regrettably, one of them.

~*~

“So I've deweloped a basic comprehension of ze communications system, but ze languages expertise necessary to correctly identify a method of cowertly contacting ze Enterprise is beyond my capability.” Chekov kicks his legs out in the steaming water, a trickle of sweat running down his brow beneath wet curls turned into ringlets by the heat and damp, his wispy beard plastered to his face. “Perheps, Keptin, if you or Commander Spock could come up with some reason to visit me at ze temple? You're both more experienced in xenolinguistics –”

I'm shaking my head as I speak, too distracted by the way our bath water's lifting Spock's chest hair up and down, up and down in tiny, furry waves to realize that I'm providing the solution to the issue as I speak. I had enough of a problem keeping my eyes off him in his uniform. Spock half-naked and sitting in my bathing pool a meter away from me is a whole new playing field.

“I've already had a look. Spock might have a better idea than me, but I'd need time to study it in detail before I could make any headway.”

“Perhaps one or both of us should prioritize the analysis of their written word.”

Crap. Spock's addressed that to me while I'm fixating on his naked chest. I look up, blinking and trying to look serious, like I'd been gazing into nothing while trying to figure out our various problems rather than checking out how how green his nipples look under the aquamarine water.

“Yeah, it would. You take a look at it – I'm a quick study, but its complexity is way more your idea of a fun time than mine. At first glance I'd say it was primarily some form of pictographic logography, but potentially ideaographic, I'm not certain. I'm sure Sneck'll have some tome of family history he's happy to bore you with.”

He nods in acknowledgment of the command, _'Affirmative, Captain'_ , a glint in his eye that isn't just the water reflecting the tritanium's glitter back into his face. This is Spock geeking out about getting his hands on a new alien language. It's no less attractive on him than it is on Uhura, that deep spark of insatiable curiosity about the way different beings communicate that infects them both to an extent I've never experienced. I dabble, but they both breathe this kind of thing. It reminds me of how everybody, by which I mean Bones and Scotty over a bottle of something eye-watering one night, blamed Spock and Nyota's differences for breaking them up. I kept it to myself, but I've always figured it was the opposite.

The water's getting too hot now so I swim over to the side and push myself up and out to sit next to Bones, noticing how he's developing a slight paunch, a sign of too much enforced inactivity, my own belly similarly beginning to bulge over the top of my wet shorts. Chekov and Spock seem to be the only ones of us immune, Walker's muscular frame a good few pounds heavier as he follows my lead and joins Bones and me at the pool's edge. I shake the water out of my hair with my fingertips, twisting to look over at where Scotty's squinting through a magnifying eyepiece at my detached ankle chain.

“Anything yet, Mr. Scott?”

“Aye, sir.” He selects another small probe out of the kit his adoring husband willingly handed over, and delicately starts working on another one of its miniscule links. “Looks t'be your basic average binary command system, a set of minute controls we can lock in a pattern of off-on impulses. Problem is, without testing it against the doors themselves, I've no way of knowing what precisely I've got ta input t'get us oot of here and up t'the surface. Ensign Chekov and I might be able ta come up with some kind of key between us, given enough time.”

“I'm going to need it back before we're done here today.”

“Aye, I s'pose you will. I'll try to see if I can get Srash to give me a few fer the rest of us, t'give us a chance to poke around a wee bit more between meetings.”

“Think that'll work?”

He squints over at me with a shrug. “Don't see why not. Think he'd offer ta help us himself if you gave me the okay ta ask fer his assistance.”

“No, absolutely not.” I look around at the whole group, at Chekov pulling himself out of the pool now next to Drury, his cheeks flushed dark red with the heat that Spock's still contently soaking up, at Bones lounging beside me with his feet swirling in the water, his velvet robes gaping open where the heat's getting to him, and at Walker looming over my shoulder. “We need to stand clear on this, all of us – we do not risk involving the Pingians in our escape plans. Understood?”

They all nod, not looking at me, Chekov hanging his head, Walker turning to Drury with an expression I can't figure out. Bones lifts his feet out of the water and lets his breath out in a sigh that I know well. He's preparing to tell me how wrong I am, and trying to figure out how best to say it in front of the others without making it look like he thinks his CO's a drooling moron.

“With all due respect, Captain . . .”

“Just spit it out, Bones.”

“I get that Sextus is giving you the runabout, but most of us aren't having that problem. Pishn's said enough to me to imply he doesn't approve of us being held captive, and that he'd like to help.”

“It is highly improbable that you are able to quantify it being an implication as opposed to your own inference. I have often observed that humans have the ability to hear what they wish to, rather than accepting the true meaning of any given statement.”

Spock gets a sour look from Bones. “I think I know what my own husband was trying to tell me better than you do.”

“I merely question the wisdom of following a potentially disastrous course of action due to a supposed implication.” Spock's moving through the water now, his body looking almost white in the illuminated water, his muscles long and athletic, his movements graceful to the point of lyricism. Then he begins to walk up the steps, the water cascading from his torso, his chest hair molding itself to his defined pecs, his shoulders and taut stomach gleaming wetly and his shorts clinging to him like a second skin. Venus, rising from the waves, and I gray out a little as all the blood rushes from my brain. “I did not intend to cast aspersions on your personal relationship, Doctor.”

Bones puffs up in outrage. “Exactly what are you trying to say, Commander?”

“May I understand that you mean to inquire as to whether or not I am making an implication?”

“Why, you smug, green-blooded –”

“That's enough!” I force my libido under control and throw up a hand. “No more bickering, both of you.”

“My apologies, Captain. Doctor.”

Spock gives me his best _Vulcans Would Not Stoop To Bicker_ eyebrow lift and kneels on the bare rock, tucking his feet beneath his ass while Bones mutters unintelligible things about both my and Spock's parentage under his breath before spitting out a gruff apology at Spock. We've always had our tensions as a command team, but the recent lack of time in each others' company in addition to the stresses of captivity are taking their toll, and I want to stamp any sniping down before it gets out of hand.

“But the issue stands. Jim, Pishn honestly wants to help, I'm certain of it. Scotty's old man sounds about the same, and Paznus sure seems anxious to keep Chekov happy. We're ignoring an untapped resource, which I'd say is foolhardy.”

I guess he's got a point, much as I don't like it. “Anybody else want to chime in?”

“I'm not sure how much help Scads would be, he's only a minor tech.” Drury scratches at his beard thoughtfully. “He's got access to the upper levels, though, and he's always saying he'd do anything to see me smile more.”

“If your locker door's anything to go by, growing a pair of tits might be a start.” Walker grins, pleased that he's raised a laugh out of most of us. “But I don't trust Posd. He's loyal to Sextus. The entire Prime Guard's handpicked, and I doubt he'd do anything that went against orders. I'd say we need to count him out.”

“Noted. Chekov?”

“Paznus has stated that ze church stands separate from ze gowernment, and he seems to have some affection for me. But he is old, and wery much controlled by his acolytes.”

One person left to ask and I have to force myself to do so, hating to even think of Spock shacked up with those two. “Commander? What about Padnus and Sneck? I know Sextus and his government have a less than easy relationship with the warlords.”

Spock's fingers are arched in front of him, his face darker than ever with its thick growth of beard, his bangs longer than I've seen them, spiked by water and hanging over his eyebrows into his eyes. He looks wilder like this, that precise control Vulcans hold so sternly over their own bodies tattered around the edges, and it makes me wonder how much he's changed by this experience, what else about him is less formal, less disciplined.

“Sneck would not support our escape. Padnus would, but is too afraid of possible repercussions from both Sextus and Sneck should any attempt be successful, so will not be of any use to us.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I am sure.”

I'm not a suspicious person by nature, but my internal yellow alert starts up. “Would you mind expanding on that statement? Tell me you haven't discussed this with them.”

His eyes shift from mine to concentrate on his fingertips. “I have not.”

“So how can you be certain?”

Spock narrows his eyes at Bones, and pauses in his reply like he's considering his words carefully. My sense of unease ramps up a notch. “It is a matter of Vulcan physiology that I do not wish to discuss with the group at large.”

“I guess that's fair. Let's wrap this up, and you and I can further discuss involving the Pingians before we take any action.” I stand up, walking over to Scotty and holding out my ankle so he can begin the process of reattaching my ankle chain. “Gentlemen, I'm relying on you all to keep your minds on the task at hand, and to keep those shorts on, no matter how helpful your husbands want to be. Am I clear?”

Spock _'Aye, Captain_ 's me, echoed by Drury then Walker. But then the room falls silent except the sound of the water sloshing gently around the steaming pool, a gurgle coming from the heated spring's bubbles in the corner. No _'Aye, sir'_ from Scotty, no affirmation from Chekov. Nothing even from Bones, who I gape at until he glares at me in affront.

“Don't fly-catch in my direction. Pishn's provided me with my own bedroom, and I'm the sole occupant, thanks.”

“Glad to hear it, even if my back is envious as hell that you get a bed. Mr. Scott?”

“This is a tricky procedure, sir, I've got ta concentrate just now.” But there's something about the cast of Scotty's shoulders, his fingers clumsier than usual as the chain slips out of them. “Bugger. Slippy little bastard. There, got it.”

“Mr. Scott . . .”

“I'd like ta point oot that Chekov didnae say a word either.”

“I'm asking you, Mr. Scott. Would you care to update me on the state of celibacy in your marriage?”

A sigh and he sits back on his haunches, plucking at his beard with nervous fingers. “I wouldnae, if you don't mind, sir. Not in front of the lads.”

My heart sinks, disappointment burning like acid down to my gut. “Damn it, Scotty. That was a direct order.”

“Aye, sir, but this isn't exactly your everyday typical situation, now, is it?”

There's a mumble of consent from the others and I look around at them all, feeling absurdly betrayed, pissed beyond reason. “You guys don't get that this is all we hold over them? The only power we've got is the ability to deny the Pingians any form of romantic or sexual relationship while we're here. I need to be able to rely on you, _all_ of you. Ensign?”

Chekov pales, his eyes huge. “Yes, sir?”

“Do I need to ask?”

“No sir, I mean, Paznus and I, we haven't, I mean, I don't . . .” He swallows anxiously, looking wretched. “He watched me one time, when I, uh. You know. I couldn't help it, I woke up and I was – I thought he was asleep, and didn't know he wasn't before I got to ze point where I couldn't stop. I didn't mean to, and he was nice. He is nice.”

He'll combust if he blushes any deeper, no matter how humid the air in the room is. I rake my hands through my hair and rub over my face, trying to come to terms with this development. “Okay, alright. We need to move on from whatever's happened, but I need you all to keep it in your damn pants. You've both got a clean slate from now, but, make no mistake, I will file a report over any further incidents of a sexual nature once we finally get out of here.”

“And if we don't?” Scotty stands, brushing off the knees of his uniform pants. “I understand what you're saying, sir, but we've been here weeks now. It's unreasonable to expect us ta act like monks for the foreseeable future. I've got needs. We all do.”

That I now have to officially consider Scotty's sexual needs is another black mark against Sextus and his people. “You're right, and we'll reassess the situation if, and that's a big 'if', our first escape attempt fails. Clear?”

“Aye, sir.”

Chekov looks suitably chasened. “Yes, Keptin.”

We all get to our feet and start to tug our tunics on over damp skin. After that whole thong and chains outfit, I feel almost chastely covered in the sheer fabric and my soaked shorts. I wait till everyone's ready before giving them the nod.

“You've all got work to do and, recent developments aside, I have to say I'm proud of how you're all dealing with this. Let's get ourselves off this rock. Dismissed.”

“Want me to hang back for this?”

Bones nods towards Spock, his voice low but I shake my head in the negative, patting his shoulder and pushing him in the direction of the door.

“I'll update you next time if I need to. I still can't believe you get your own bed. You've certainly charmed that husband of yours.”

“It's not my fault I'm so pretty.” He drops in behind Walker's hulking shoulders, his tone dropping further for my ears only. “Listen, kid, take it easy. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

“I'll ease up.”

“On the others, too.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Spock remains in his kneeling position as I open the door for them with my chain and wave them through, Stoods lurking outside and inclining his head at me as I step back to allow it to form once more. Maybe Stoods would help us. I know he's in Sextus's direct employ, but he seems straightforward and honest, and also anxious to be rid of me and the sexual Damoclean sword hanging over his head that I seem to be. I get the impression his husband would personally carry me out of here and as far from Stoods as possible if he thought he could get away with it.

“So? Spill.”

“'Spill'?”

I'm acutely aware it's just the two of us in here now, barely clothed, soaked to the skin, Spock's eyes regarding me steadily over his fingertips.

“What does your Vulcan physiology tell you about Sneck and Padnus?”

He purses his lips, and I know enough of Spock's subtle expressions to know this is a problematic discussion for him, even in the privacy of a tritanium-lined cave. “You are aware Vulcans have telepathic abilities.”

“Sure. Other, older you melded with me, I told you that.”

That had been an uncomfortable conversation after we'd known each other less than a month, with younger Spock making a prissy face that communicated how inappropriate he felt his older counterpart had been and that perhaps a simple conversation would've sufficed. I sit to dangle my legs in the pool at the lip nearest him, waiting for his response. He looks at me awhile longer before giving it.

“This is a private matter that I trust will remain in your confidence.”

“Of course.”

Another pause and I sit it out, paddling in the warm waters and letting the bubbles tickle the soles of my feet.

“Our telepathy is not limited to melds. The meld itself is a specific manifestation of touch telepathy.”

“Okay.”

One thing I've learned about Spock is that he's spikier than a porcupine where anything personal is concerned, and any sudden movements or demonstration of nosiness on my part will end with me getting a faceful of supercilious condescension before he retreats into reproachful silence.

“Our Enterprise colleagues and, indeed, the majority of humanity that I have come into contact with since leaving my home planet, display an unusual degree of sensitivity to the Vulcan desire to limit interpersonal touch. This has not been my experience with many species, including the Pingians, Padnus and Sneck to a frequently uncomfortable degree.”

“I knew it!” He frowns at my interjection and I curse myself for not keeping my mouth shut, but it's a bitter vindication of my concerns about Sneck. “Those assholes have been mistreating you. You should've told me something was going on.”

“No, Jim, there is no cause for your concern. I refer to small, casual touches, a hand on my arm on inquiring how my day has been, to give one example, a touch at my shoulder as we sit to eat, for another. Nothing that you would consider untoward or unreasonable for those living in close proximity to one another.”

The ease of use at which he slips into using my name rather than my title once we're alone calms me instantly, until I remember all the times I've touched him without thinking. “Wait, you mean you can read someone's mind the second they touch you?”

“Not precisely, no, but I am able to form an impression of that individual's stronger emotions or principal considerations.”

I recall his flinch when I grabbed his arm to look at his bruise a week back, seething with anger and a boiling jealously that I had no hope of reining in. He's not looking at me, his eyelashes shuttering his eyes, which hold their intense focus on his hands, the fingers of which took mine that night and lifted them from his skin with a quiet urgency. Shit.

“However, I was schooled in the control of my telepathy as a child, as all Vulcan children are. I am able to protect myself from all but the most urgent matters of emotional conveyance, unless I consciously chose to do otherwise.”

Damn. He's giving me an out, which I can only guess means he felt something from me that night or perhaps on other occasions. I can feel my face heating, and I clear my throat, hoping to lead us away from whatever it is he thinks he's learned about me.

“So, you've chosen to, what, get an impression of Sneck and Padnus?”

Spock inclines his head elegantly. “I have opened my mind to their thoughts on five occasions following relevant discussion. The contact has been sufficient to allow me to be sure of their true opinions regarding our captivity.”

“Okay, then, that's them out of the picture. And don't sweat it, your secret's safe with me. Handy little trick you've got there.”

“It has its advantages.”

“And its shortcomings, too, I'll bet.”

Spock's mouth quirks in that manner I've learned to recognize as his smile, and I think about what Drury said about his husband, _' he's always saying he'd do anything to see me smile more'_.

“Only those that I am accustomed to.”

The heavy, humid silence settles around us both as he looks up from his fingers and holds my gaze for a long minute. I open my mouth to say something without thinking, and catch myself at the last second.

“Uh, so, you think we should consider permitting Scotty and Bones to talk to their husbands? Sound them out about whether or not they'd assist our escape? Personally I don't like it, but I've got to admit that they've got a more informed idea about what reaction they're likely to get than we do.”

The soft black veil of his lashes drops once more and his hands part, dropping to rest palm-down on his naked thighs. “Pingian allies would be an invaluable asset in our endeavor.”

“Yeah, that's what I figured.” I pull my feet out of the pool and get up, needing some physical distance from him for the last thing I need to get out before we're done here. “There's another thing I need to discuss with you, for your own safety more than anything else. It's Sextus.”

“Yes, Captain?”

My title once more, formality dropping into place as I sense him withdrawing from me as he stands, stretching out those long legs of his. I'm beginning to feel like I'm itching all over, my shorts drying against my skin, and I swear I can feel the passage of blood through my veins. It feels weirdly like a storm's coming, that oppressive weight to the air pressing in at my mind.

“He's got it into his head that something's going on between the two of us, and he doesn't like it. So we need to keep our distance from each other if he's around, keep it strictly business. Don't call me Jim, for a start. I don't want him going nuts and trying to rip your arms off.”

“I understand. I am grateful for your concern over my continued wellbeing.”

Sarcastic Vulcan bastard. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'd better let you go before word gets back to him that we're in here unchaperoned.”

“I have a matter of concern I must discuss with you prior to our next meeting.”

“Oh? What's up?”

His face is blank now, its usual mix of attention and benign query.

“We may be doing ourselves a disservice by denying our fellow captives the opportunity to explore physical intimacy with their husbands.” I frown at him but he continues in the same, steady tone. “I am concerned that our crew members are at risk of undue emotional stress due to their continuing captivity, and we may be denying them one potential source of comfort during their ordeal. Additionally, logic suggests merit to the concept that, should we make ourselves more available to our captors and, in doing so, allow them to gain a greater stake in our mental state, they may find themselves more motivated in assisting our return to freedom.”

“What?” I fold my arms across my chest, my temper flaring again as it's so quick to do these days, my emotions running on a raw nerve after weeks of too little sleep. “Is this about you?”

His eyebrow shoots an inch up into his overlong bangs. “Me, Captain?”

“You, Spock, yeah, you.” The cold knot of anger begins to fizz and build as I think of all the hours I've wasted worrying about him, when all this time he's wanted them, both of them, and isn't even man enough to tell me honestly that he's eagerly waiting the opportunity to jump into a cozy little threesome. “Don't couch this in terms of the crew's welfare. If you need to get your emotional stresses worked out for you by Padnus and that arrogant asshole Sneck, then come out with it and tell me, dammit. Admit it.”

“Jim, I do not believe that you –”

“No.” I step towards him, red flickering at the edges of my vision as I try to bite back rising bile. But he's standing there, stolid and unmoved as he looks at me with those bottomless eyes of his. “Request denied.”

A coldness settles over him, a tension in his even features as his lips tighten. “I have made no request. I believe that your decision to forbid fraternization with the Pingians is potentially harmful to our position, and it is my duty as your first officer to bring any concerns I may have with regards to command decisions to your attention.”

“I don't give a flying fuck what your concerns are regarding my command decisions. Get out of here, I can't even look at you without –” I clench my fists, wanting to strike out at him or grab him and force whatever desire he has for that brute out of his body with my lips and tongue, shaking all over with anger and the need to take it out on him. “You need to leave. Now, Commander.”

“Captain, are you well?” The skin's creased between his eyebrows and he steps towards me. “You do not seem to be quite your usual self.”

“Never been better.” I shift and brush past him on my way to the doorway, standing close enough to it to bring the exit into place. “You've got your orders. I expect you to adhere to all of them, to the letter, mister.”

He withdraws once more into himself, back to being that untouchable statue, his face a perfect mask, his eyes impenetrable as his posture straightens to its most upright degree. “Affirmative. I will report to our next meeting.”

“Yes, you will, and I'll expect to see definite progress. You're dismissed.”

Spock halts for a moment just outside the door as I'm about to step back to allow it to close as I'm ready for some quiet time to myself. His shoulders are set, the muscles of his back tight beneath the gauzy fabric of his tunic, and he doesn't look back at me as he speaks in a voice so low it seems to become a part of the air whistling down the corridor towards us.

“I have experienced no desire for either of my husbands. If you feel you are now unable to trust my counsel, I would hope those words alone ring true. Good afternoon, Captain.”

Then he stalks off down the passageway without a backward glance at me. He's right – this isn't me, I know it but the rage still smoking its way around me clouds my thinking, my heart beating hard against my chest, my stomach churning with nausea. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to look at Spock, to acknowledge to myself that I want him at all. It's been longer since I've come close to reaching out and striking someone, lashing out like I used when I was younger and full of piss. My hands tremble as I reach up to smooth over my beard to try to calm myself, and I step back from the door, allowing the wall to reassemble between us.

~*~

“I'm not touching a drop of that.”

“My sweet Jamess, so suspiciouss. I would not wissh to spend such a special evening with a comatose spousse.”

I lift the small cup, examining the golden liquid inside then taking a sniff of it. “This is the same stuff you gave us that first night.”

“It is not, sweet one. It is a select liqueur, much valued by my people. I offer it to you in celebration.” Sextus sips from his own glass then smiles, his teeth glinting in the torchlight, his violet eyes lit up with good humor and adoration. “It has been one of your Earth months since our marriage ceremony, my hussband. One of your months since the happiesst day of my life, save that day I firsst held you in my arms.”

“That's what all this is for?” I look around at the laden table in our small private dining chamber, the tiny dishes laid out with bite-sized chunks of food in every imaginable color. “Sextus, you're not going to seduce me with a meal.”

“Come, drink your wine and allow me to introduce you to some of our delicacies.”

“It's not going to knock me out? You give me your word?” Because I could really do with a drink. Several drinks. Many, many drinks.

“You have my word, hussband. Drink, and eat.”

He holds out a pale blue cube of something that looks like a hard cheese or bean curd, giving me an encouraging smile as I take a sip of the honeyed liquid in my cup and then brush his hand away from my mouth. “I can feed myself, thanks.”

“But that is part of the pleasures of this meal, my love. We musst feed one another, and suck each succulent morssel off fingers willing to be later used in other manners, and to tasste each other's flesh prior to feassting on more intimate flesh at a later hour. It is a feasst of the senses, little one. Do not deny yourself.”

I reach out and take a bready, spongy thing a deeper purple than his eyes. “What's this one?”

“It is a fungal culture grown in a medium dosed with a spice. Try it, it is quite piquant.”

I sniff it, detecting an earthy aroma beneath the sweet tang of tritanium, then take a small nibble. Not bad, the spice hitting a few seconds after I start to chew, tingling at the back of my throat in much the same way that the alcohol of the liqueur's starting to warm my throat and gullet. Sextus beams with approval, taking one of the purple fungi and tossing it into his mouth whole, chewing it with gusto.

“Your ritual went well today, hussband?”

I try a handful of small green leaves that look like grass clippings but taste like pure sugar mixed with the perfume tang of the ever-present element. “It did. My men are holding up well, considering we've been your prisoners a month now, denied our rights and freedom.”

“I am glad of it. Here, try this one.”

As usual he flatly ignores any mention of captivity, watching me drain my glass and take the small dish holding pea-sized balls an alarming orange color swirled through with twists of lime green. They're sticky and gelatinous, and smell musty like old shoes. “I think I'll pass.”

Sextus tops up my glass from the wine jug then pushes the plate back towards me once more. “Don't rely on your first impression, dearesst. The color or scent may not appeal to your palate, but the texture or tasste might send your sensses reeling. Would you deny yoursself the chance to stretch your boundaries beyond their comfort zone?”

“You really want me to try those ones, huh.”

“They are something of a perssonal favorite. It would pleasse me.”

“Yeah? Okay, I guess if it's that important to you.”

I reach out to take one, pulling a face in disgust as it squishes between my finger and thumb, releasing a gooey substance. Ew. It's like I've squashed some exotic bug, and now he's looking expectantly at me, waiting for me to try it. I stuff it in my mouth and grimace at the texture just as a powerful hit of an over-strong spice spreads over the back of my tongue and hits the back of my throat. I start to cough and choke, grabbing my wine glass and downing it, grunting for another refill and downing that as my eyes water and my throat bursts into flames.

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to poison me? The hell was that?”

“You enjoyed it? I am glad of it.”

“No, I didn't enjoy it! More wine. Fuck, I'm sweating. More. I think my tongue's starting to peel.”

Sextus scoops up five or six of Satan's little nuggets and tosses them back, chewing them thoroughly before washing them down with his wine as I drain a further two glasses to try to calm the heat in my mouth.

“They are the gland of a small underground mammal common to our tunnels. The gland itsself is near impossible to extract from the creature intact, and so is a rarity saved for only the mosst intimate of dinners.”

“I can see why. No, thanks, I'm good,” as Sextus pushes the small dish towards me once more. The burning in my mouth is traveling down my throat, spreading across my chest as the warmth of the wine hits my stomach. I'm sweating in earnest now, my forehead drenched, my tunic clinging to my sides. “Can we turn up the air in here?”

His lats and obliques ripple invitingly as he stretches out to touch a fingertip to a far wall, no sign or other indication there that a control exists but I can immediately feel the stream of air through invisible vents growing cooler, and I lie back on the cushioned low couch I'm reclining on opposite his, the small table lying low between us.

“Thanks. That wine's pretty strong. My head's starting to spin.”

“It is a liqueur, sweet one. It is meant for toastss and for slow appreciation.”

“Oh. Not for draining five glasses in fast succession, then?”

“It is no matter for concern, little one. I believe you are beginning to feel its effects already.”

“'Effects'?” My head's spinning faster, the couch starting to tilt beneath me, Sextus's voice seeming to come from a long way away. “You swore you weren't going to drug me.”

“And I have not broken my promise, lover. It is simply a small, what do you call it? Ah, yes, an aphrodisiac. It will inflame your senses, and enable you to open yoursself to me.”

“It's a _what?_ Dammit, Sextus!”

“It is not giving you pleasure? The entire meal is designed to do so, to make your blood rise and your passions come to the fore.”

I open my mouth to say no, it's not giving me pleasure, and a gasp comes out instead as a liquid throb travels from the base of my spine to the tip of my dick. I'm getting hard, rock hard, a heavy pulse throbbing deep in my nuts as my dick pushes up to the waistband of my shorts, my back arching as I instinctively try to push against the fabric binding my straining cock. I try to sit upright, pushing myself up off the couch and swaying in my sandals as the floor seems to pitch beneath my feet.

“This is insupportable.” I can't think of any words, my head muddled, my tongue thick and unwieldy. “I'm going to bed.”

“So soon?” Sextus's mouth splits open with joy, his face lighting up as he leaps off his couch to join me, his hands heavy on my shoulders keeping me steady. “My love, I had no idea this would work with such expediency, but we have denied oursselves so long that I supposse it comes as no surprisse that you are now as hungry for this as I. Kiss me, my Jamess.”

“Get offa me.” I ward him off with a hand plastered flat over his face as I blink and try to bring the room back into focus. “I think I'm going to pass out.”

My legs begin to collapse out from under me and Sextus scoops me up into his arms, his skin nakedly warm against my bare arms and legs as I loll like a ragdoll in his hold. “Come, lover. I will take you to our bedchamber.”

God, my dick aches, and I don't have the strength to reach down to cup myself or rub. “There's not enough aphrodisiac in the universe to force me into having sex with you.”

“I have sworn to you that I will never force my attentions on you. My Jamess, why will you not trusst me with your body?”

“You swore you wouldn't drug me, either. All in all, you're not the most trustworthy guy I've ever met.”

“This is not a drug, it is a supplement for lovemaking.” He places me down on the pillowy covers of his bed and I roll over onto my stomach to pass out, groaning at the pressure on my swollen cock as I do so. “You are in need of physical releasse, sweet one. The substance will continue its affect on your persson until you allow me to take care of you as only a hussband should.”

“Go away, Sextus. I'll take care of it myself.”

He hums, a low growl as a hand touches my shoulder, and his touch sends shivers of lust running throughout my body, my skin burning, the throb in my nuts stepping up, my dick aching and soaking a wet spot in my shorts. “The idea of you taking yoursself in hand and stoking the fires of your pleassures to the point of release makes me hunger ever more for the tasste of you. Of your essence. I will suck it from your skin as the greatest of delicacies.”

I feel gone, trying to repress the need to writhe on the bed, my skin crying out for more touch, more sensation, my asshole clenching hard on itself wanting attention, my tongue searching my lips for the flavor of someone near, for the salt sweat of another, for the heavy weight of a dick to fill my mouth and throat. And my mind flashes to Spock, the water plastering that soft chest hair to his strong pecs, to his naked feet, his green-tinged nipples, the genital bulge of his soaking shorts. I almost come with just the thought of him, my cock twitching and letting loose another spurt of pre-cum.

“Look at you, so delicate, so bound up by your lussts.” Sextus's hand presses into the small of my back, covering the span of it entirely, forcing me to thrust against the bed. I cry out, getting so close already, squeezing my eyes closed and imagining it's Spock's hand holding me there, Spock's other hand tracing over my asscheeks. “That'ss right, lover, spread your legss for me. Dissplay yourself.”

My mind translates it into Spock's delicious, measured tones, him ordering me to spread my legs, his aroused hiss as I do so. I feel it building up my spine, my inner thighs tensing as I rut against the bed with another ragged moan, Sextus's thick fingers sliding under the back of my shorts to rub along the crease of my ass. Instantly I think of Spock's dick tracing along there, preparing to part my cheeks and thrust inside, and I come with a cry into the pillow, the cum boiling out of me like it's pulling my insides with it. It's a painfully intense climax, my feet cramping, even the muscles in my forearms aching as I twist the sheets in my hands and try not to scream. When I come to, I'm floating on a cloud, the softest bed cradling me against Sextus's side, his sweet herbal scent surrounding me, and Spock's not here. Nor are my shorts.

“It is done, my James, my sweet one, my only. Your release alone is enough for now. Sleep, little one, and dream of your love.”

 _Spock_. I don't know if I murmur it aloud or if it's just a thought, caused by the drug, no doubt, my brain fogged with its after-effects. I nuzzle into Sextus's skin without thinking, and slide into darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for reference to non-con sexual activity

“Wake, Jamess of Sextus.”

_Hmfnh._

“Your attention is required, Jamess. I will need you to wake.”

 _Mhuh._ I rub my face deeper into the pillow, hoping whatever or whoever's talking too loud will get lost if I keep my eyes closed.

“Jamess of Sextus, pleasse. You musst wake.”

An over-large hand touches my shoulder and shakes me, the motion causing a loud buzzing to start up somewhere in the center of my brain and my stomach to clench queasily. I reach behind me to bat the hand away.

“Later, 'm sleepin. Go 'way.”

“Jamess, you will wake and pay thiss matter mind, even if I am forced to carry you out of the bed mysself.”

I open an eye at that, finding Stoods next to the bed looking down at me with a stern expression that allows for no argument. Almost dislocating my jaw with a wide yawn, I tug the coverlet up and turn over, trying to sit up, my fingers automatically reaching up to find my beard for a morning scratch.

“Ugh. Water.”

“You are thirssty? Here.”

“I need to unstick my tongue from my gums.” He pushes a cup into my hand and watches as I drain it, the buzzing subsiding although my gut's still lurching with nausea and my temples have started throbbing painfully. “Thanks, better. What time is it?”

“Beyond the mid-hour. There is a vissitor who insissts on being admitted immediately. He is quite vocal on the matter.”

“I slept that long?” Looks like I've missed lunch. “And why am I in the bed?”

“You musst evacuate it and clothe yoursself.” Stoods indicates a clean tunic and shorts on the end of the bed, before stepping back. “There is no time for bathing. Leonard of Pishn is mosst insisstent that you are woken and made available to him.”

“I don't remember getting in bed. Bones is here?”

I press at my temples in an attempt to stop the sick throbbing, trying to recall how it is that I'm in Sextus's bed, gaining myself nothing but another nauseating wave of discomfort from my stomach. Was I drinking last night?

“He is, and you will see him shortly. I will allow you one cycle before I musst return.”

Looks like Stoods has been bearing the brunt of one of Bones' more aggravated mood swings, because I'd usually get a good half hour to myself to stretch out the morning kinks and throw some clothes on rather than the minute he's giving me now. I rub over my head a few times to try to wake properly and throw the covers back, swinging my legs out of bed. Stoods gives a dramatic gasp and claps a huge, golden hand over his eyes.

“Musst I remind you that the Prime Sen would be mosst displeassed if he knew my eyes had witnessed your intimate area, and that thiss chamber is watched over?”

I look down at myself. “Huh. Any chance you have any idea how it is that I'm naked?”

“No, and it tessts me beyond my limits.” He can't have gotten more than a split second look at anything, but Stoods' shorts are already tenting out in front of him to a, frankly, terrifying degree. “You musst cover yoursself in my abssence. One cycle, Jamess of Sextus.”

He almost trips over in his blind hurry to get away from me, and I wait till the door's whooshed shut before reaching over the bed to grab my outfit, racking my brains to try to remember last night. There was a . . . a meal with Sextus? And something that tasted horrible, something I'm still tasting, a hot spice that's still lurking around the corners of my mouth. I take a second to do a quick body check. Everything looks normal enough, no chafing or redness on my dick. I tuck my stuff into my shorts, tugging my tunic on over my head, a suspicious itch tweaking the back of my mind. Had I been drinking? Did I get so out of my mind that I stripped, climbed into bed with Sextus and forgot my responsibilities? Because wouldn't that be the greatest thing to wake up to, the discovery that I slept with the one person in the galaxy that I need to keep my hands off.

But it doesn't feel like it. No marks anywhere, no familiar deep ache in my asshole, no bites or scratches on my skin that I can see or feel, just like that first morning when I woke here. I can't see how I could get naked in Sextus's bed and nothing happen at all, but I'm clean, no cum flaking on my stomach or ass, my pit hair not all stuck together with dried sweat. I take a sniff at myself and I'm actually pretty fragrant compared with most mornings. Curiouser and curiouser. If I was still on the ship I'd put it down to a quick jump in the sonics after any sexual activity, but there's no way I wouldn't recall a middle of the night dip in my bathing pool, no matter how drunk I was. I decide that it'll be time to pay a visit to Sextus to try to force some clues out of that ambiguous bastard, and I sit on the bed to slip on my sandals, unable to stop a grin as the dulcet tones of Bones' bitching reaches me through a solid wall of rock.

“Dammit, man, this is a medical emergency! Get the hell out of my way. No, use the few brain cells knocking about that big head and open the door first. Pingians sure aren't the most intellectually gifted species.”

The door opens again, and the ever-patient Stoods gives me a long-suffering look as Bones shoves past him and into the room.

“Leonard of Pishn for you, Jamess of Sextus.”

“He knows who I am, you great gold galoot. Get out of here. Go on, skedaddle.”

“I will return after twenty cycles to esscort you back to your hussband, Leonard of Pishn.”

With that, Stoods ducks back out the door before Bones can direct any more ire at him, but Bones is way too busy taking in the mess of the bed, me sitting on it, him eyebrowing at me skeptically.

“You're relying on all of us to keep it in our shorts? Wasn't that the direct message of all that pious speechifying last meeting, Captain?”

“It's not what it looks like.” His eyebrow doesn't believe me. “At least, I don't think it is. I'm hungover to my teeth.”

“Anniversary dinner?”

“You too?”

“Yeah, but the chastity belt of your disapproval held, and my innocence remained untainted as I slept alone.”

I can feel my ears heating and my cheeks flushing, but refuse to look away or give in to embarrassment. “Look, if anything did happen last night, I don't remember it and sure as shit didn't go into it willingly. I think. At least, I hope not. What if I did? Jesus, what a mess.”

“Aww, hell.” He sits down next to me, the cloudy bed settling around him as he places a small flat case on the floor then sinks in up to his hips. “I'm sorry, kid, I shouldn't jump down your throat. It's been a tough morning. What do your instincts tell you?”

I flop back and cover my eyes with my hands to block out the torchlight, my head swimming. “Doesn't feel like anything happened, but Sextus has got some explaining to do when I next get my hands on that slippery fucker. What's going on with you?”

“We need to go sit in your bathroom. For the steam.” An edge to his tone makes me uncover my eyes to look up at him, and he eyeballs at me to make sure I get his meaning. “Doctor's orders, it'll sweat some of the toxins out and help your head.”

Bones knows my bathroom's the one place we're not monitored. “Oh, sure. Gotcha. Follow me.”

My ankle chain allows us to leave the bedroom and cross the Prime's empty living quarters, through its large main cavern, past the doors to the dining room and the small, cozy relaxation chamber that Sextus keeps encouraging me to snuggle up with him inside. I lead Bones down my private corridor to the bathing room, opening the door with my ankle and gesturing him inside, not speaking until the wall's fully solid once more.

“We're good. What's going on?”

“I think we're in trouble. You know I've been working with Pishn at the primary medical facility?”

“Uhuh.” The heat in here's making my head pound worse, my gut protesting as I grab a cup of water from the well in the corner to sip slowly.

“I've been doing some tests, comparing the effect of different Pingian medications on both Pingian samples and some of my own blood work. I thought I might be able to figure out some knockout drug we could use like they used on us, after I managed to finagle an ampule of it out of Pishn.”

“Good, that's progress.”

“Listen – have you noticed anything different about yourself in the last couple weeks? Moodiness, discomfort, rushes of aggression . . .”

I frown, wondering where this conversation is going, my mind guiltily going back to that strong impulse to either strike out at Spock or to tear his clothes off and force myself on him. “Well, yeah. Something like that. I put it down to lack of sleep.”

“I don't think that's it. Checking my blood samples day to day, I noticed a developing issue with my endocrinological outputs. So I dug a little deeper, and finished my first round of tests this morning.” He takes a deep breath, looking out across the pool, then up to the glittering rock above. “It's this stuff. It's poisoning us.”

“What stuff? The water?” I put my glass down with a grimace at it.

“Not just the water. It's the tritanium. It should've occurred to me before we even set foot on the place, I can't believe I missed it.”

“Tritanium's poisonous?”

“To us, not the Pingians. It's not a native element to Earth, or to Vulcan, and the Federation's never come into contact with big enough quantities before to figure that, in bulk, its an alien substance that our biology hasn't evolved to deal with. It's in everything here, the water, the food, the air we're breathing. We're not able to metabolize it in this amount, and it's building up a slow toxicity.”

“Fuck.”

“Bingo.” Bones places the case he's been carrying with him on one of the smoother rocks around the pool, flipping it open to reveal a few instruments that would look at home in a torture chamber. “My testosterone's going through the roof, my liver's enlarged, and I've got inflammation throughout most of my joints. You said you've been having problems with your back every morning?”

I shrug. “Been sleeping on solid rock for a month.”

“True, but it's probably your kidneys struggling to cope with pissing the stuff out, along with the build-up of minute amounts of tritanium throughout your body. It's acting as an irritant on all your systems. Here, I need a blood sample.”

He takes my arm, exposing my inner elbow and pointing a medieval-looking instrument at it, a long, sharp needle attached to a cylindrical tube. “Hold your horses, doc, what the hell is that thing?”

“Relax, it's only a little prick.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls.”

He thumbs over my skin, selecting one of the more prominent veins there and jabbing me, a dark red spot of blood welling up and dripping down to my elbow a second after he pushes the needle into my arm.

“Ow. I thought these people were supposed to be technologically advanced.”

“I get the impression from Pishn that they think hypo-technology is for wimps and pussies.”

“Figures. Hey, leave me a little.”

“Quit your bitching. Press on that till it clots.” He's pulled the needle from my arm, efficiently detaching it from the tube and clipping it into a small box, placing both it and the sample into his case. “I need to make a few more checks. Clothes off.”

“Okay, but I'm warning you, Sextus will have your head if he knows you've been fondling my nuts.”

“Like it'd be the first time.” He checks my armpits, my throat and jaw, down to my belly where he prods around beneath my ribs, then to my back where his pokes are a little uncomfortable. “That hurt?”

“Lil bit.”

“Just as I suspected – your kidneys are inflamed, as is your lymphoid system, plus your glands and liver.” I grit my teeth and stare pointedly at the roof as he rolls each of my balls between his fingers and thumb. “Your testicles are slightly distended. Stick out your tongue.”

“You couldn't have checked my mouth first?”

“I shared a room with you for way too long for you to persuade me that you're not accustomed to the taste of ball sweat.” He pokes around my mouth, then pulls down my lower eyelids with each thumb. “Soft tissue blood vessels are dilated and showing signs of stress. Damn. I'll have to work up your bloods, but looks like it's not just me. We're getting sick. All of us, most likely.”

“Even Spock?”

Bones gives me an opaque look as he steps back, and crouches to rinse his hands off in my bath. “Even the hobgoblin, although that green blood of his is better equipped for dealing with foreign substances than ours. It'll be affecting him but not as fast as the rest of us. I could be mistaken, Vulcan physiology's not exactly my area of medical expertise, but his metabolism's tougher to crack than a Deltan crawdad.”

I press my hands to the sides of my throbbing head, legs feeling rubbery and weak with worry, like my body's going to give way under the weight of too many things to deal with. “This is . . . not good.”

I collapse down, fighting the need to curl up and wait until someone else fixes everything. Bones' hand finds my shoulder, pressing on it heavily as he sits beside me. “Hey. Come on, where's that obnoxious Jim Kirk fighting spirit?”

“It's hungover and wants to go back to bed.”

“This is another arrow for our bow. They don't want a bunch of dead husbands on their hands, right? In all those goddamn kinky-assed paintings around the place, I've yet to see one involving necrophilia.”

“Yeah, you're right. Okay.” I rub at my eyes and set my mind to it, the task at hand. “Clothes first, then Sextus. You're coming with me.”

“Okay, but Jim, you know what this means. Even if that husband of yours doesn't listen, we've got to get out of here. Whatever it takes, and the chrono's already started the countdown.”

~*~

“No.”

At least I've now got a potential explanation for my reaction to that blithe smile, which worms its way down to warm my slightly distended nuts.

“What do you mean, 'no'? The environment here's putting us at risk. You've got to release me and my men immediately.”

“I mean to say, sweet one, that I have no intention of releassing you. Ever. You musst begin to undersstand that, my Jamess.”

“So you'd rather kill him than let him go? Is that the kind of ass-backwards idiocy that passes for love on this planet?”

I hush Bones with a glance, having learned by now that being reasonable seems to be the only way to make any progress with Sextus. “Bones is right, this stuff could be potentially fatal to us. Surely you can see that –”

“I see only a dessperate attempt to force my hand, lover. There is no proof of such a rissk, so I repeat mysself when I state that, no, I will not releasse you. You are mine, in body and soul.” Sextus's huge violet eyes fill with emotion, his smile lopsided. “You would have me believe that your place is not at my side? It is an impossibility. How would I continue to breathe without my hussband? I would wither and draw my lasst without the susstenance of your company.”

“I think you'd live. I might not, if I stay.”

“How can you quesstion the depth of my need? Have I not proven to you that it is only you, little one, that lights the fires of my heart?”

“The fires of your heart have nothing to do with this!” Damn him, he's frustrating. I rake my hands through my hair, trying again. “Bones can provide medical proof.”

“Yes.” Sextus looks at Bones with a disapproving sniff. “I plan to disscuss the matter of your experimentations with your hussband, Leonard of Pishn. He trussts too easily.”

“You're going to slap him on the wrist for me fulfilling my professional duty and keeping an eye on the health of my crew? That's just peachy.” Bones folds his arms, building up into a piss. “You leave Pishn out of this.”

“Your devotion to your hussband speaks well of you, but I have not approved your admittance to his facility, and that alone musst be acted on.”

I recognize Drury's husband, one of Sextus's assistants, lurking behind a nearby console. “You, Scads of Kenneth. You don't want your husband to die, do you? What are your feelings on this?”

Scad's eyes widen in alarm as he begins to stammer, looking over at Sextus in panic. “I am m-mosst certain that the Prime Sen only has the b-best wisshes of his people and their loverss in his heart.”

“You see, hussband?” Sextus's smile has widened in triumph. “You will not turn our hearts from loving you nor separate our souls from needing their match. We have fine healerss here, and will care for your beloved flessh as if it is our own.”

“There's no cure for this save a few million years' increasing exposure.”

The smile turns to Bones, along with that patronizing head tilt. “You yoursself, Leonard of Pishn, boassted to us that firsst night of your all-encompassing serum. Surely a simple modification –”

“First off, I wouldn't say I _boasted_ about anything, and secondly, I'd need to contact the ship for a sample of the serum, considering you removed all my medical supplies from me.” Bones looks around over his shoulder, fixing one of the surrounding Pingians with an impressive glower. “Well? Want to open a channel?”

Sextus's eyes darken, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Your ship is no longer in orbit of Ping, Leonard of Pishn.”

“Bullshit.” I step up to Sextus, ready for a fight, all that extra testosterone pumping around my body until my jaw's clenched so hard I can hear my molars creaking. “That's bullshit, and I'm tired of you denying the effects of our captivity. You're killing us, destroying us from the inside out, so I don't want to hear one more word about love until you let us go.”

“But, my Jamess –”

“I am. Not. Your. Anything. I am Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise, and will no longer answer to anything less. Come on, Bones, we're done here.”

“Very well, lover. Know that I eagerly await the later hour, when we shall continue to share oursselves with the other.”

I halt on my way towards the door, stock still in my sandals as Bones tugs at my elbow. “Don't let him get to you. Let's go.”

“The ecstasy of your releasse was breathtaking in its rapture, sweet one, and soon you will accept the impatient flessh that dessires you so.” I can hear his voice growing stronger as he crosses the wide floor towards me, the sweet herb of his breath ghosting my shoulders as he stands behind me. “I sensse your dilemma, dearesst, but you musst know from lasst night that we have only pleassures beyond our single selves to enjoy.”

“Jim . . . Don't do this.” I'm shaking and can barely hear Bones through the buzzing in my head. “There's the door. Walk through it.”

It's like I'm stuck to the floor, unable to move, unable to breathe out the anger overtaking me. Sextus's lips brush my ear in a silken whisper,

“I have tassted your essence, little one, and hunger for more. I sucked it from your skin as you slept, and feassted on your mosst private flavor.”

I never knew until now that the phrase 'seeing red' is a literal one. I blank out, a roar torn from my chest as everything glows before me like it's drenched in blood and I turn, swinging out with a fist as I do. Sextus might be bigger than me but, even in this overwhelming rage, I know enough to aim for his throat, punching him in the windpipe hard enough that he gives a choking gurgle and falls to his knees.

“You liar, you totally fucking asshole!” I scream it at him, doubled over as Bones tries to drag me away, my throat closing up. “You said you wouldn't, you said you didn't need to force yourself on anyone, you lied, you fucker, you lied to me –”

No time for more. I'm hit with a mountain of skin and hard muscle, knocking my head against the polished rock floor as Sextus's royal guard takes me out. I don't know where Bones is anymore, I can hear his shouts but they don't make sense, a sound like wind rushing in my ears as I'm hauled up bodily, then lifted by two enormous Pingians who hold me steady no matter how much I struggle.

“Let me go! Admit it, Sextus. Admit it in front of all of them, that you drugged me and forced me into something I can't remember. You sick bastard.”

“Enough.” Sextus coughs a few times, getting to his feet and nodding to one of his guards, who clamps his hand over my mouth. “My regretss, hussband, but I musst have you removed from here. Pingian law is abssolute on this matter. You have attacked the Prime Sen, the blessed figurehead of our great society. You have forced my hand, and I have no choice but to punissh this act.”

I arch and strain against the hands holding me as they carry me out, my protests muffled against the hand across it as Bones' voice rings out, “No! You can't do this. Jim, we'll fix this, we'll get you out, I swear.”

The wall becomes solid behind us, blocking out any further words from Bones. The jail cell they carry me off to is small and damp, too humid for comfort and dimly lit, a blanket in place of a bed. As I'm thrust inside and dumped on the floor so hard I feel my ass bruise, one of the guards leans down to snap the chain off my ankle, his eyes kind as he looks down at me, his words a low hiss.

“Know that you have alliess, friend.”

I'm cradling my hand to my chest, having bust it open on Sextus's solid throat, and try to struggle to my feet. “What do you mean? Who are you?”

“You musst be silent, Jamess of Sextus, our words will be witnessed.” His voice drops further until I can barely hear it. “I am Posd of Reynolds, and will return once I am able.”

The other guard's golden shoulders have vanished through the small doorway, Posd giving me a cautious smile before following, the door disappearing and locking me inside, alone.

~*~

The thing about absolute solitude is that it gives you too much time to think. It's difficult anyway, underground as we are, to get much of an idea of the time of day or the passing of hours, but alone like this, no interpersonal contact to define how every minute moves on, and I'm lost, unable to figure out how long I've been left here to damn myself for being so stupid.

I let him taunt me into this. Maybe Sextus had felt his control of the situation slipping away, or maybe he simply tired of my constant antagonism, but I'm sure that this is what he intended, the thorn in his side neatly removed. I've carefully washed the blood from my knuckles with a corner of the blanket dipped in my water basin, figuring out that everything's bruised rather than broken, cursing myself the whole time for blindly stumbling into this. All of this, as any captain worth his commission would've been able to prevent it somehow. I can't figure out how but, much as I want to blame Sextus, it all hangs on my shoulders.

I was too anxious to get down here, puffed up with pride that I'd been handed this mission in the first place, along with, I have to admit, a desire to meet Sextus in person. Blinded my libido, the same one that's had me panting at Spock's heels for a year too long. Even in here, waiting on God only knows what punishment, my mind still turns towards him and always has, even when I should've been concentrating on getting us out of here, on forging our way to the surface and back to my beautiful ship. I don't deserve her. I don't deserve any of them. I definitely don't deserve him.

“Captain?”

A warm swirl of air announces the door whooshing into place, Reynolds Walker stepping through with an anxious smile. I stumble to my feet, blinking away tears and struggling not to rush at him, overwhelmed with gratitude at a familiar face. But he steps up to me and gives me a warm hug, and I find myself held tight against his huge chest, more grateful than I've ever been for a strong pair of arms to hold me up.

_It should be Spock. Why isn't it Spock?_

My brain whispers it at me and I loosen my grip, stepping back and slapping Walker on one massive arm with my good hand.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you, Lieutenant.”

“I could say the same, Captain.”

“Jim, please.”

He nods, his eyes lighting up. “If you'll call me Ren.”

“It'd be an honor. I'd invite you to sit, but as you can see,” I indicate my blanket and basin, the only furnishings in the room. “I'm all out of chairs.”

“It's okay, we don't have much time anyhow. Posd's shut off the security feed for us, but it's risky, and we can't leave it off too long.”

“I thought you said we couldn't trust him?”

“Oh. Yeah, that.” I've never before seen someone with skin as dark as his visibly blush. “Well, we had this anniversary dinner, and there was this wine, and, well, let's just say I saw a whole different side to him. I'm sorry, Captain. I let you down.”

“It's Jim, and don't be sorry. I misjudged that whole situation and need to apologize to all of you.” His shoulders relax and he grins at me in relief. Such a nice guy, a gentle giant, and I wish I'd known him better before all this happened. “If we've not got much time, I have to ask if Posd told you anything? About what's being said, what's this punishment I'm due to receive?”

His grin fades, and he looks at the floor, obviously uncomfortable. “None of us is being told anything, we're all confined to quarters. Me and Posd had a hell of a time sneaking down here unobserved.”

“But the punishment? Anything you've got might help me prepare.”

He flinches, his hand taking my arm and rubbing over it with a thumb as if it's the only comfort he's able to provide. “You have to wrestle, in the great ring.”

“Wrestle? That's it?” That's not too bad. It's not like I haven't gotten the crap kicked out of me before.

“That's not it.”

I blanch. “What, I have to fight to the death? Then that's me screwed.”

“Not to the death, no, sir.”

“What, then?”

“It's not like the bouts we saw the other night, those were the usual monthly exhibition. This time, it's punitive, and you'll wrestle your opponent until one of you submits. They don't have much crime on Ping so it's a big deal, and public.”

“So I'll submit immediately. At least that'll mean they don't all get to watch me get my ass handed to me.”

He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes. “No, sir. Until you submit . . .” Sometimes I'm too smart for my own good, and I begin to get an idea of what's waiting for me before he confirms it, clearing his throat first. “Sexually, sir.”

“Okay.” My voice is strangely calm, even though I'm close to throwing up, a good idea of who my likely opponent will be, the one who must've planned this out. “Then all I can say is that I hope you're all working on a plan to get me the hell out of here.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a fight and non-con sexual activity

Never give a cornered man too much time alone. Funny how I'm learning life lessons now that might've helped me once I got back to the ship. I spend what I reckon is close to ten days pacing my cell and thinking. Thinking _hard_ , and I might not be Spock but I've got a way with finding the hidden corners of a situation other people might disregard or fail to notice in the first place. So I've got a plan. A shitty, ill-resourced and unrehearsed plan, but I'm always at my strongest off the cuff. Everything becomes slow moving and crystal clear, a trail of steps to follow cleanly. The whole last month's stresses and black clouds of self-doubt melt away as I stare at the walls and figure it all out, piece by piece, thinking through potential outcomes. Settling my head into what's got to be done.

It's easier to control my moods, like this, nobody here to set a spark to the simmering temper that's been boiling through my veins over the past weeks. Now I'm aware of it, I can feel the tritanium like an itch I can't scratch, unwanted hard-ons that last until I have to painfully jerk off to get done with them, aches that seem like they're coming from those shadowed depths of your body that are usually so easy to ignore. My back hurts constantly, my piss burns, my eyes raw no matter how much sleep I'm able to get, my gums bleeding as I scrub my teeth with an old-fashioned brush after the two meals I'm given per day. I feel ancient, trying to push myself through a daily exercise routine so I'm not a physical mess by the time the fight comes, but it feels like a few push-ups are killing me, my heart pounding unsteadily against my chest bone as my shoulders scream in pain and a stinging sweat runs down my cheeks. 

But I force myself through it, keeping at it until I'm able to curl into my blanket and fall into a fitful sleep interrupted by stomach cramps and dry heaves. This all feels like a test and I hate failing tests. I can almost hear Bones calling me a 'stubborn sonofabitch', and I wipe the sweat out of my eyes with the hem of my grubby tunic, closing my mind off to how they're all doing. Worry's not going to help a thing.

“Captain Jamess, I bring your food.”

I haven't seen Ren since that first night, nor any of the other crew, Posd explaining that they're under house arrest until the outcome of the fight. But Posd is a blessed constant, bringing a meal or change of water once a day. I think. I'm losing track of time. Close to losing my goddamn mind but at least the self pity's gone.

“Thanks. Any news of my punishment?”

I have to watch what I say, as Posd is the one ally I've got access to so I can't risk Sextus taking him from me, too.

“You will face your opponent at the morning's height, Captain Jamess.”

I nod, taking the plate from him and inspecting its contents. Sextus seems to have ordered me a diet of fruit and nothing else, which is having an unfortunate effect on my inflamed gut and I'm not exactly used to sharing such an enclosed space with the crapper. “Right. How long is that?”

“It is five realms, and fifty cycless.”

A little over seven hours. I refuse to give into the flicker of fear rising deep in my chest, lifting my chin and taking a cup of fresh water from him instead. “Okay. Are you escorting me there? Will I see anyone else first?”

 _Tell me I get to see my guys before it starts. Please._ His purple eyes acknowledge my unspoken plea, softening with sympathy. 

“No, Captain Jamess.” My few guards been calling me that since I threw the water pitcher at someone's head for calling me James of Sextus. A small victory, and one I've latched onto with all my mental might. “The Sen's guard will accompany your opponent, as it is the Sen himsself that is the wronged party, so his support musst be dissplayed.”

“The Sen himself.” If it's anyone else standing in that arena waiting to wrestle me to the ground and fuck me senseless, it wouldn't be so tough, but neither would my plans work out. I'm relying on that smug arrogance of his for any of this to pan out. “Will there be weapons?”

“No, Captain Jamess. Pingian maless fight only with their might and their vigor.” Sextus certainly has both of those in abundance. “You are in readiness?”

“Hah. No.” 

Posd reaches over me, his muscled arm bigger than my thigh as he takes my old dishes, bending closer to me than he needs to. I'm about to step back to give him some space when his voice whispers to me in that beguilingly sibilant hiss they all have.

“All is not losst, Captain Jamess. Your men have not forgotten you.”

“We've got seven hours. We're close to being out of time.”

“Even so, the freedom of hope susstains us.” He straightens up, tucking my dishes into his arm with a polite nod. “Your punisshment is soon. Prepare yoursself, and fight with a man's heart.”

“I'll try.” He steps towards the opening door and I can't stop myself calling out to him, even though I try to keep my words neutral. “Hey, Posd of Reynolds. Thanks. For, uh, all the food.”

A half-smile that's so pitying that I wish I hadn't seen it. “You have strength beyond your physsical self, Captain Jamess. I look forward to witnessing it. My wisshes go with you.”

Then he's gone and I'm left in solitude once more, trying to remain focused even though a cold sweat's breaking out on my forehead that's unaffected by the heavy humidity in here.

~*~

All I can think about is what they see, looking down at me as I stand here in the center of the ring, my bare feet digging into the grubby tritanium dirt that lines the arena's floor. I've lost weight and muscle mass over the last week, unable to keep much down before my gut would protest and dump it all out in spasms that would leave me breathless and shaking. I'm ribby and too thin, my beard long and threadbare with the nervy scratching I've not been able to quit, the same shorts and tunic I've worn the whole time stiff with dried sweat and whatever else I haven't been able to clean from my skin with the one basin I also had to drink from. At least I'm not naked, having refused to strip once I was informed by my dour attendant this morning that clothing must not taint the sanctity of the Great Ring. I'm not certain why I wasn't physically forced into it. Maybe it's some mark of respect for the warrior about to go to war, I've given up trying to understand Pingians and their archaic system of honorable good will that has no issue with kidnap and imprisonment. 

The cavern seems bigger now from this viewpoint, lines and lines of sand-colored faces staring down at me, their mouths open to bawl and hoot, a wall of sound that rocks me on my feet as I spin around and try to make out any familiar faces. I can't see anyone, too many of them, the arena's space too disorienting in its sheer volume. Bigger than any room I've been in, a huge echoing dome filled with beings who've got one hope in their minds, that they'll get to watch me forced to my knees by their great leader. I plan to deny them the pleasure. That seems like a far bigger task now, here, than it did in my small cell. 

I look for Spock. Surely his must be the one face I'd be able to pick out, him or Ren most different to the rows of golden faces, but his shining cap of hair is nowhere that I can make out. Maybe that's good, God knows I don't want him to witness it if I lose. I look down at the dirt, how my toes are half-covered in it. Tritanium, the poison that's the root of this whole mess, and I have to fight against my rising temper. Got to keep my head in this, I can't afford to let myself lose control, not for a second. Perhaps I should've paid more attention to Spock's more detailed descriptions of Surakian teaching, but I tend to zone out and start imagining how he'd look naked whenever he goes into Professor mode. I'm amazed any of his students ever learned a thing.

The crowd's noise swells further, a vibrating wave of a roar that seems to make the dirt floor quake, and I turn to see Sextus enter through the entrance opposite to the one I was hauled out here through. Stupid to feel so relieved that it's him, as expected. He's so much bigger than me, his muscles shifting beneath his iridescent skin like some jungle cat, his entire figure a picture of glowing health and strength. The floor must be half a kilometer in length and he takes his time, strolling towards me with a self-satisfied smile as he raises his hand and waves to his people, the chain of tritanium-colored gems that's the only thing he's wearing glittering like distilled evil around his neck. 

He's huge and powerful, everywhere, the heavy cock that I've managed to avoid this whole long month as thick as my wrist and two-thirds the length of my forearm. It swings against his legs as he walks, two hairless, low-hanging balls almost the size of my fist swaying behind it, and I force myself to look up at him, to meet his eyes with no outward show of fear, although my butthole feels like it's trying to crawl up into my spine to hide.

“My Jamess, how it painss me that we have come to thiss.” 

That condescending smile's threatening to make my temper spike and I breathe slow and even, trying to hold onto my focus. 

“Then put a stop it. You're the Prime Sen, they're your laws.”

“The laws are of my people, little one. Their jusstice musst be satissfied. I will be gentle, sweetesst, and serve your needss as much as my own.”

He's a meter from me now, forcing me to crane my head back to look at him, no doubt enjoying the disparity in our sizes and how much it emphasizes how small I am compared to him. 

“If you want to serve my needs, then let me go. Release us all, Sextus. We don't have to fight like this.” I step towards him, putting a wheedling tone into my voice, the one that usually makes Bones grump for a few minutes before giving in. “You say you love me. Prove it.”

“I intend to, hussband. I will prove our love to all these witnesses, and you will thank me for it.”

“I'll never thank you. I won't submit, you'll have to kill me first.”

“I will not harm you beyond healing, my only love. If nothing elsse, pleasse be sure of that.” Then he turns from me and raises his arms, and his voice, his words picked up by some system that enables his softly-gruff hiss to echo around the cavern. “My people! Men of Ping! Your Prime Sen is here to show his worth of you all on thiss day!”

A huge roar of approval thunders around the chamber and he grins, eating up the attention, puffing out his chest and raising his chin. “Thiss man, the Lord of my Heart, has wounded us all, and I will be the insstrument of your punisshment! On thiss day, I swear it to you, my proud, strong males of Ping. I will take the strength of our ancesstors and the might of their essence, and I will right thiss wrong in your name!”

His smile turns itself on me again, a touch of madness there in his joy at this obscene display and in how much he's adored for perpetrating it. “You have words for my people, hussband? It is traditional that the wrongdoer swears to take his punisshment and to fight with a true heart.”

“I am being punished for fighting for my life. Where's the truth in that?” My sour tone echoes back at me along with the boos and hisses of a crowd who I suspect isn't totally rooting for me. I jut my chin out and try to exude an air of self-righteousness. “Screw your traditions. Your society is sick, and I want no part of it. I will not submit, not in my mind, and you can't force it out of me no matter what you do to my body.”

“You hear that, men of Ping? He quesstions the wissdom of our traditions! Your Prime Sen will enssure that, before thiss day is completed, he will demonsstrate his adherence to our ways, and demonsstrate it on his knees! The fight begins and I will bring us glory!”

The noise is deafening as he steps back from me and drops into a crouch with a wide grin. The sound's pounding through my blood, where a year's worth of adrenaline seems to be flooding my body. This is it, that moment from where your system switches to Fight-or-Die mode in under a nanosecond. My heart is speeding, millions of years' worth of evolutionary survival instinct hitting me flat in the gut all at once. This is that time our instincts prepare us for, the one that wakes us breathless in the night, awaiting the dark terrors there that our ancient lizard brains can somehow sense. I know enough now to understand that danger does lurk in the dark, that the galaxy's populated with monsters and menace beyond the understanding of those who live out quiet lives back home. But I've had the monster at my heels before, and it was bigger and scarier than Sextus. And I'm still here.

I skip to the left as he makes a lazy grab for me, chuckling under his breath as I try to recall every last lesson I've learned about wrestling a stronger opponent. But Spock's a different issue, more flexible than me, not as heavy or unwieldy as the Pingians are, although I know I can't underestimate the speed with which Sextus moves. His legs are so long he only has to take one step to my every four.

“You will not make thiss easy on me, hussband?”

“Where would be the fun in that?” 

I feint to the right and dodge past him, jogging to some distance away, watching as he rolls his eyes dramatically at the crowd and follows me at a saunter. 

“You plan to run from me all thiss day?”

“I've always been running away from you, Sextus. You just never gave me this much space to do it in before.”

At least they think I'm funny, a smattering of laughter rippling around the closest rows above us, and Sextus's expression shifts into something nastier in response. I guess he doesn't like them laughing at him. He bolts at me, an impressive sprint for such a huge frame, but I duck down and scoot through his legs like I'm sliding for the home plate, kicking one of his legs out from him as I go before scrabbling to my feet in the dirt and darting away again. No matter how big they are, a good kick in the joint will always unsettle a biped with articulated knees. I watch over my shoulder as he staggers then regains his footing, his forehead creased with a frown. 

“Now, Jamess, thiss is not the honorable way to wresstle.”

“I'm human and we like to fight dirty.”

“Then the responssibility falls to me to end thiss disstasteful exhibition all the sooner.”

My feint doesn't fool him this time and his hand closes around my wrist as I try to evade him, yanking me backwards and off my feet until I fall at his ankles. But his back's to me and, not knowing a damn thing about their anatomy, I jab an elbow into where I guess his kidneys should be. I might as well have elbowed a bulkhead. His hands shove into my armpits and lift me up until I'm facing him, my feet dangling a meter off the floor.

“Thiss is not a fight you can win, little one.” Shit. Even a sharp kick in his balls gets me no more than a gentle smile, where I'd be tossing my cookies on the floor before rolling around in the fetal position and groaning in agony. “You begin to see, my Jamess? You are not my match, not here.”

“You know where I'm more of a match for you?” I try to climb up him, succeeding in getting stuck over his shoulder while he grabs at my ass and tries to stop me slithering down his back. “You like to think of yourself as some kind of super virile stud, but I bet you don't come close to my successes in that department.”

I almost lose my shorts, but manage to twist out of his hands, falling to the floor and bruising my hip before I roll away to tug them back up again.

“You will not disstract me with my jealoussly, lover.”

 _Remember the plan. Stick to it. Get him riled up._ I jog away from him backwards, letting my smile turn as smug and as assholely as possible, something I know I've got a talent for. “No? You don't want to hear about all the men who've succeeded where you've failed? How about the women, Sextus? Want me to tell you exactly how many women I've been with willingly? _Very_ willingly, as a matter of fact.”

I'm halfway across the width of the ring from him now, having to shout as he stands motionless, clenching his hands into fists, his green eyebrows beginning to draw together. “You want numbers, Sextus? Names? I'm happy to give you full, detailed descriptions of every intimate flavor that's passed the tongue you've not yet tasted.”

His face is unnaturally flushed, a dark gold as his upper lip contracts in the beginnings of a snarl. “Why do you tesst me so, little one? You can see that you already have my passions roussed.”

“Maybe because I need to see that you're capable.” I'm jogging backwards again, trying to put more distance between us as he begins to pace back and forth like a caged lion, his semi-hard cock lengthening halfway to his knee before it starts to spring upwards. “All I get from you is pretty words, and promises you don't keep. Maybe if I can get through that lofty complacency of yours long enough to see you display a true, honest-to-God emotion for once, I'll be able to trust that you mean a single word you say.”

The crowds' hissing is growing in volume, the slap of thousands of pairs of sandals stamping at the polished tritanium of the stands echoing around the vast space like an approaching rain storm. I suppose they're more about action than conversation, a theory proved correct as Sextus growls then makes a bullish dash at me, the crowd erupting in approving cheers.

Shit, he looks like he's going to mow me down like an airbus, squish me flat like a bug as he cannons across the dirt floor towards me. I freeze in sudden fear before that fight-or-flight instinct takes over again, taking one look at the charging mountain of dense muscle fiber coming towards me before deciding it's flight time. I take off, my heart pounding against my ribs and the breath burning in my lungs as I dart this way and that to avoid his lunges at me, but I slip in the dirt and take a fall, my cheek grazed as I crash to the ground.

His body hits mine and I vomit up a mouthful of bile as Sextus sprawls over me entirely, his dick drooling on my back as he pushes me face first into the floor, pulling my arms back and locking them behind me with two linked hands pressing into the nape of my neck. My tendons scream, my cries muffled by the dirt as I thrash under him, trying to get some breathing space. But then he pulls me back and up while sitting heavily across my ass, my spine arching to the point where it feels like he'll snap me in two, and hisses into my ear.

“Is this what you wisshed for, sweetesst one? To witness the agony of my aroussed strength, to feel my physsical dominion of you?”

I spit out a mouthful of grit, gasping for breath in between whimpers as he maintains the hold with hands that I'm sure could break my neck without a second's pause. “It hurts, please, you're hurting me.”

“Much as you have wisshed to hurt me with your words, hussband.”

But he lets me go and I flop face down again, knocking my forehead and chin before he rolls me over beneath him, grabbing my bruised wrists and twisting my arms until it feels like my shoulders are ready to pop out of their sockets. I can feel muscle tissue tearing in my sides and biceps, tears running out of both my eyes to soak my ears as I bite my lip and try not to scream. The roar of the crowds is constant now, shouts of 'Take him!', 'The glorious Sen prevailss!' ringing through the din. 

“Please, Sextus . . .” 

It's little more than a groan, spat out between harsh gulps for air as I try to keep my mind in the game and blot out the pain in my arms and shoulders. He sits up, not letting my wrists go as he straddles my face and lets the tip of his massive cock knock against my cheek, leaving a wet smudge there. I squeeze my eyes and mouth closed, having to breathe through my nose as his scent hits me hard, that sweet herb stronger than ever as he rubs himself over my face with a hiss of pleasure.

“The time is on us, sweet one. Give me your submission.”

“I can't. I won't.”

His feet are curling around my inner thighs, spreading my resisting legs until I'm splayed out under him. His thumbs hook into mine and I cry out, a pitiful, desperate sound as he twists my thumbs back further, my entire back in spasm now.

“Give it to me, hussband.”

I can barely speak, my words broken, punctuated with sobs. It may not look like it to the baying crowd, but he's right, this is the time and I've got him exactly where I want him. Time at last to play my wild card. 

“I can't! Because you don't love me, and I can't trust that you ever will. I'd give myself to you if I could only know for certain that your love is real.”

He pauses, the pressure easing up off my shoulders as he moves back with a frown and I give into weeping, full body cries that I'm only halfway play-acting. I'm not a big crier, never have been but, boy, when I do, I know it's not pretty, involving sniveling and snot and angst-ridden expressions of deep woe. I can sense him looking down at me in puzzlement, his hands holding my wrists tighter as I continue to bawl my damn head off.

“But of coursse I love you. I worsship your exisstence with every breath in my body, my only one.”

“Then how could you punish me for being afraid that you'll never feel about me the way I feel about you? How could you possibly,” I sob dramatically for effect, “Want to desecrate our first joining by forcing it from me, in front of these animals, when all I've ever wanted is to know that you truly love me?”

Another confused pause, my breath forced out of my body as he sits back on me too heavily for my lungs to be able to function, my shoulders in agony where he's forgotten to let me out of the hold. “But . . . I . . . my Jamess, you know that it is only you I dessire.” 

I use the last of my remaining oxygen to wail, black spots starting to dance in front of my eyes. “You just want me for sex, I knew it! You're the same as all . . . the rest . . .”

“My Jamess? What ailss you?”

“I can't . . . you're sitting on me, the pain, I can't . . . breathe . . .”

A wave of booing and catcalls hits me as he gasps in shock and starts to shift off me, mistakenly wrenching my arms as he does and the black dots turn red then everything fades out as I feel my left shoulder dislocate, the pain pushing me beyond consciousness as I pass out beneath him.

~*~

I'll never bitch to Bones about his hypospray again. But, if this all works out to plan, I guess I'll never see it or him again anyway. Or Spock, and the pain that hits me when I finally allow myself to think that hits me worse than the dull ache in my shoulder. Stoods looks up at my face where he's replacing the warmed rocks that he's been using to tend to my shoulder.

“You are in renewed pains, Jamess of Sextus?”

“No. Not the kind you're talking about, at any rate.” I smile at him, knowing how much it's costing him to work so closely on me like this. “You're doing a great job. You ever think about becoming a healer?”

“The lord of my heart, Pinsnah, is a healer.”

“You must've been paying attention whenever he talked about work.”

“Every word he besstows on me is a blessing.” 

His large hands are gentle on my skin as he replaces the constricting bandage Bones' healer husband placed there with a sympathetic smile after doing his best to knit the muscles back into place.

“He's lucky to have someone who loves him like that.”

Stoods finishes with the bandage, sitting back to look at me again, a note of soft reproach coloring his tone. “And perhapss it is that love which you have so publicly wisshed for from the Sen.”

“Perhaps.” 

How is it that so many of the people in my life know how to do that skeptical thing with their eyebrow? “You do not know what it is that you rissk with such statements.”

“Yeah, I do.” I tug the covers up now he's done, settling back into the bed with a wince as every strained muscle in my body protests, my head woolly with the pain-killing liqueur Stoods keeps having me sip. “There's an old Earth saying – If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.”

“I have to admit that thiss . . .” He sighs. “Thiss dissapoints me, Jamess of Sextus. You have disspplayed such strength of purposse, such obsstinacy in the face of powerlessness, that I had become to believe that you were a true leader of men, one that only the propheciess of old recognize.”

Fuck. Way to kick a man when he's down. Stoods makes to leave, his head hanging as he gathers his healing materials and opens the door.

“Wait. Stoods, you have to understand that I'm doing what I need to.”

He shakes his head, his shaggy green curls bouncing. “I have spoken on thiss matter too much. Resst, Jamess of Sextus. I will return to further soothe your pains after you have slept.”

Then he's gone, and I'm left with nothing but his disappointment in me to add to the heavy sorrow currently threatening to knock me off my feet. I'm pleased that the plan's working out so far and that Sextus didn't tear me a new colon in front of half a planet's population, but I hadn't bargained on how it might feel if I won. I knew what it was I had to do but never expected for a moment how much it'd hurt. It feels like I'm trapped, having to gnaw off a limb to live, even there's no way in hell I'm going to live through this.

“My sweet one? You are ressting well?”

I summon a weak smile from the depth of my aching guts as I see the instrument of my agony ducking through the door. “Hi, Sextus. I am, yes. Much improved.”

The bed shifts as he sits next to me, his hand taking my right one and tracing over the bruising on my wrist with careful fingertips. “That I hurt you so, that I have injured that flessh which is mosst precious to me . . .”

“It's okay. You'd have done a lot more damage if you'd forced yourself on me in the arena.”

A sniff, and he rubs over his nose with a knuckle. “Only a brutish beast like Sneck would conssider taking the unsspoken submission of an unnatural sleep as permission for the act of completion. But I should not be here, my hussband. Pishn has made it clear that I musst give your body time to heal, but I worry so for your heart, my little one, that I have caussed it such disstrust.”

It takes all the mental strength I have to lift my hand to caress his cheek, a sweet smile breaking out across his handsome face as I do so. “We have each other to heal our wounds now, Sextus.”

The smile splits open, wide and dazzling, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. “Then I will leave you to resst further, my Jamess, although my soul yearns for your company.”

I let my face fall, trying to turn on the wronged husband act again. “You have yet to prove your love to me in a way I can know as real. I've trusted and been hurt so many times before . . .”

He brings my hand to his lips, kissing over my knuckles as I swallow and manage to tolerate it, knowing there's only worse to come. “Then we will talk soon, sweet one, so that I may begin to convince you of my heart's passions.”

“'Passions'?” I pout, pulling my hand away and shifting from him an inch, even though it makes my shoulder throb nauseatingly. “You see? It's always about sex with you, every time. It breaks my heart that you only want me for my body. That's all anyone ever wanted from me, I guess I was stupid to hope you might be different.”

“My heart's passions, hussband, not those of my loins.” He rises from the bed and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “And I will prove that to you in time, my only. Sleep, lover, and know that I think only of you.”

“Uh, there is one thing you can do for me now, to help me be sure I can trust your love . . .” 

Panic flutters around my stomach, my face heating as I take the chance that it might not be too soon to ask. He pauses in his way over to the door, turning and looking at me with a questioning half-smile.

“'One thing'? Anything in my power, dearesst, is yours if you name it.”

“It's my men, Sextus. You have to understand . . .” 

I sigh heavily, looking down at my fingers and letting my bottom lip wobble. Ping can't have had any contact with those stupid holodramas that are popular Federation-wide, and in particular with my mom, because Sextus would've recognized every trick in the overblown act that I've played so far. It feels like I'll be throwing my drink in his face and slapping his cheek before the night's out. But he dashes to the bed in his eagerness to please me, sitting down once more and taking my hand to hold it over his chest.

“Undersstand what, little one? My soul achess to know you, to undersstand anything I can to let you love me and trusst that I love you.”

“I know this might be impossible, even for a great leader like you, but I can't let myself love someone, or give myself willingly to someone who holds my men's lives in his hands. Stupid masculine pride, I suppose, that you're their leader now rather than me. It makes me feel weak and worthless, totally emasculated. Unworthy of a virile, strong leader like you, who has power over an entire planet.”

“I'm not certain that I undersstand –”

“Release my men, husband.” It's the first time I've called him that and it's clearly a physical shock, his body starting in response, his fingers tightening on mine, his mouth opening wordlessly. “Send them back to their ship so I'm free to love you completely, with every part of me, in every way. As long as they're here I can't give myself to you the way I've yearned to do since the first moment I saw you.”

“Releasse them? But their hussbands . . .” His brow knits together in a frown, his eyes full of unease before a hint of suspicion starts to grow there, his expression hardening. “Your ship is no longer in orbit, my Jamess.”

“I know that a powerful man like you can make it happen, if you want it to. You don't want me to love you completely? I suppose not, if it's just sex that you're after . . .”

He's stupider than I ever gave him credit for if he falls for this, but it's my only plan, the one thing I could come up with as I stared at my cell's walls and knew I had to put an end to this. His eyes focus on mine as he stares at me intently, searching my face for signs of dishonesty. I guess I must be a better actor than I thought because, after a full minute, he closes his eyes and nods, pulling my knuckles to rub against his lips once more.

“I cannot make promisses, my sweet one, but if this will help you know that my love is true –”

“Oh, it will. Definitely. Once I have proof that they're off-planet and back out there, out of our way, then I know I can love you as a husband should.” I stroke my thumb over his cheek as he presses kisses to my fingers. “Release my men and I'll know without a doubt that you love me beyond all others, and that I can trust my soul to you. Let me love you, Sextus, my husband. Make this your marriage gift to me and I swear I'll spend the rest of my days at your side, just as we both long for.”

He looms closer, his eyes closing as he brushes his lips against mine, and I stay passive, allowing it but not participating, suppressing the need to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as he withdraws and smiles down at me sweetly.

“Then I will do what I can, little one. Sleep, and I will return with the proof that givess a start to our new life together.”

~*~

I never realized before coming to Ping how many kinds of pain exist. I've never been afraid of it, always willing to throw myself into the fight. I saw a psychologist after I got arrested the first time, then again at twelve, at thirteen and at several times over the rest of my teenage years, and each time they'd come up with the same diagnosis – an adolescent death wish, an unconscious need to follow my father into the great beyond that made me fearless where fists, weapons or the dangers of stupid physical stunts were concerned. Took me a full year to persuade the psych-tech they made me see at the academy that I was over it and fit for duty. But something of it still exists in me, I've known that all along.

So the pains of sleeping a month on a bone-chilling floor didn't much register on my list of shit that matters. Nor the aches or gut-wrenching spasms that have made me certain that the tritanium's building to lethal levels inside me, my blood burning with it and my body wracked with cramps and sudden pains that I'm finding it difficult to hide. Even the mental pain that I'm fighting to overcome, that I'm leaving everything I knew behind and accepting death as a release from this, if it means I can get them all back to the ship, my beautiful silver bird that will carry my friends, my _family_ as far from this toxic place as possible. None of that matters, so long as it works. I'm not afraid of those pains, not even the frequent jabs of hot feverishness through my head that make me wonder if I've got some kind of problem starting inside my brain. I can take all that and bear worse. I'm tough enough.

But not for this new pain, lying here with my shoulder strapped tight as I recline back against Sextus in our bed and watch Spock saying goodbye to me. Sextus was gone for hours, through the night and beyond, Stoods attending to me several times and refusing to speculate as to where Sextus was or what he was doing before Sextus returned, his smile beaming from ear to ear in triumph. He came through the door and dismissed Stoods before proudly announcing to me that he had news, that he had the proof I needed, then brushed a finger against a spot on the cave's wall that immediately burst into a bright light that hurt my eyes. All that time I'd spent getting Chekov to try to figure out their comms system, and I'd had one under my nose the entire time.

 _Spock_. Even though seeing him like this, after so many days, feels like a blow to the chest, I manage to press my lips together and not speak his name aloud. 

“It is a recording, sweet one. I thought it besst that you did not tax yoursself with the stresses of a long farewell.”

“Very considerate of you.”

I murmur it, drinking in Spock's face in static as the recording is paused. His shoulders are so broad in the robe he's wearing, his beard clipped into some semblance of neatness but not yet shaved, his hair combed once more into its proper style. I recognize the walls of Sickbay behind him, and my heart squeezes in painful joy at the thought that they're getting treatment now, Bones' efficient staff flushing out all the poison and putting their bodies to right. I look at him and can't breathe, can't swallow, the pain in my chest growing to breaking point as Sextus brushes another invisible control on the wall and puts the recording into motion, coming to settle into the bed behind me and snuggle into my back, his huge arms surrounding me.

“Thiss is for you, hussband, my only.”

He whispers it in my ear then brushes his lips down my neck as I bite down on the impulse to tell him to shut the fuck up, because all I need to hear right now is Spock's voice. 

“Greetings, Captain Kirk. It has been requested that we provide proof of the away team's new-found freedom and of our return to the Enterprise.”

That voice. I always knew it had an effect on me, but I didn't know it could do this, make my lungs freeze and my throat close up with emotion. He's wearing his usual implacable mask of Vulcan impenetrability, and it's more perfect and exquisite than anything I've ever seen.

“I wish to reassure you, Captain, that all members of the away team to Ping, excluding yourself, have returned to the ship without further injury. We have been given permission by the Prime Sen to leave Pingian space. I am authorized by Lieutenant Kenneth Drury, Lieutenant Reynolds Walker, Ensign Pavel Chekov, Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott and Doctor Leonard McCoy to offer you our thanks in securing our release from captivity, and they send their regards. I have also been asked to offer you the best wishes and gratitude of the Enterprise crew as one.”

I can't take this, I'm not strong enough. I'd rather be burned alive at the stake than witness this, his final goodbye, and I close my eyes rather than look at the beauty of his perfect face, his solemn, musical voice continuing to pour into my ears like warm honey.

“Goodbye, Captain. It has been my pleasure to serve.”

I crack an eye open at his use of the word 'pleasure', something I'm not sure I've ever heard him say before, his tone completely dispassionate. But then he lifts a hand in a Vulcan salute and I know this is it, the last time I'll ever lay eyes on him. 

“Live long and prosper, Captain Kirk. USS Enterprise out.”

The message blinks off, the tritanium wall reappearing as I bite down on the ball of my palm and choke back a sob, feeling my heart shatter and spear my insides until they start to bleed. Sextus's arms hug me tighter as he starts to mutter whispered words of love and adoration into my ear, of our future together now that my old life is ended, and all I hear is how fucked in the head I am that I only realize I'm in love with Spock once he's said goodbye to me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sickness

I wake from a nightmare about that time I got stuck under a roofing joist in a derelict house back home, to find Sextus's arm slung across me, his mouth open somewhere above my head gusting my hair with his snores. It takes a few minutes to inch out from underneath him as I'm still too raw to deal with Sextus this early, having fallen asleep in his arms after pledging that I'll give myself to him today, and that I'll do it willingly, with all my heart. 

The wriggling action it takes to get out of bed without waking him sends my belly into its now-familiar spasm, my mouth filling with rancid bile that I've got no choice but to spit out into the water pitcher now I'm bound to one room once more without Stoods' assistance. Pitcher or floor, either way it's coming out fast. I puke and puke till my stomach feels hollowed out, my gut concave and cramping beneath my ribs and my shoulder stinging with a pain that's not right, something not in its correct place. The puking triggers a coughing fit I can't stop and I'm bent over trying to hack up a lung when I first feel Sextus's fingers sliding up my naked back.

“Hussband, how may I best assist you?”

I hold up a finger until the coughing slows and stops, Sextus stroking attentive hands over my skin the whole time. “Okay, I'm good. Thanks.”

“You wissh for refresshment?”

He gets out of bed naked and moves to lift the pitcher, and I stop him with a hand on my arm, his eyes immediately darkening in the dimmed torchlight and gazing down at my fingers on him. “Sorry, the water's dirty. I'm okay.”

“You are certain?” His hand covers mine to hold my touch there. “You did not sound healthful, little one.”

“Yeah.” I'm recovered enough to pull my hand away to start my early morning beard scratch before tugging my shorts out of my ass where they've wedged themselves firmly overnight. It's early, I'm not sure of the time but I can tell we've not slept long, Sextus's eyes puffy and dry-looking as he scrubs at them with his knuckles like a little kid. “I need to talk to you but now's not the time. Let's wake up first. My shoulder's killing me and I could do with a soak in the tub to ease it out.”

“'Tub'?”

“My bathing pool.”

“Ah. Yes, of coursse, my sweet.”

He brushes the wall with his fingertips to lighten the room, opens the door and calls for Stoods, who I'm never quite sure finds the time to sleep or spend time with that husband of his as he's here already, carrying a tray overflowing with fruit into the room for us.

“Prime Sen, Jamess of Sextus, I am here to serve.”

Sextus lies down on his stomach across the bed to start picking off silvery grapes to pop into his mouth one by one, his ass enormous and muscular, gleaming like two wet melons in the increased light. But I barely notice it, Stoods' choice of phrasing instantly gaining my attention. _I am here to serve._ I don't think he's ever put it like that, not on a single morning that I can recall. But I stare at him, waiting for some sign, a wink or significant glance to tell me it's some kind of message. Instead he picks up the water pitcher to fill and looks into it with a disgusted curl of his upper lip. 

“My hussband wisshes to bathe, so attend to his needs.”

“Pake of Snazd is to esscort Jamess of Sextus to his bathing chamber thiss morning, Prime Sen.”

“Pake's a misery. You take me.”

“I have other duties, Jamess of Sextus.”

“Then Pake of Snazd may attend to them.” Sextus chews on another grape before tossing one across the room, hitting Stoods an inch above his nipple. Someone's in a playful mood this morning. “My hussband has made his wisshes clear.”

“Of coursse, Prime Sen.” Stoods takes a slow, measured breath then turns to me, his expression neutral. “Pleasse, follow with me.”

I keep up with his long stride for a few minutes before I have to stop, bending over with my right hand on my knee as I catch my breath and allow my gut to settle, my left arm tightly held into my body. 

“You are in pain, Jamess of Sextus?”

“Y'know, any time you want to quit calling me that is fine by me. Was the bathroom always this far?”

“Its disstance is unchanged, as is your title.”

It's prickly, a hint of pissiness to it that I can't ignore. “Is there a problem, Stoods?”

“Not of my awareness. You are well enough to continue?”

“Yeah, think so.” I try to stretch some of the aches out of my lower back, feeling the rising sick fever slicing my head in two again. “But take it slow. You may not have noticed but I got hit by a Sextus-shaped dump truck yesterday.”

He turns from me and starts off down the pathway again, no hint of the slow-germinating friendship between us that I thought we'd started to develop. I do my best to keep up but we have to stop two more times as I start to get worried I'm going to mess my shorts. By the time the familiar curve to the bathroom's doorway comes into sight, I'm clenching my asshole hard and sweating so freely it's soaking my skin. 

“Quick, the door, and you might want to make yourself scarce because it's not going to be pretty.”

“I am here to attend to you.” 

“No, I mean it. There're some jobs nobody should have to deal with.”

“Pinsnah, the lord of my heart, would be dissappointed in me if I did not assist you to the besst of my ability.”

He says it kindly as he helps me through the door, my legs weaker than ever like I've been running a long race, my stomach cramping hotly the closer I get to the crapper. I fumble with my shorts, finding it tough to get them down with one hand, but Stoods brushes it away and slides them down himself, even going so far as to help me sit. Then my gut empties explosively as I double up in pain, groaning and unable to disguise how much it hurts, my cheeks warm with humiliation, my voice shaky when I finally get the strength to speak.

“Thanks. Don't think I could've made it by myself, which would've been messy.”

“Then I have saved mysself an undessirable chore, wouldn't you say?” His fingers are gentle as he brushes sweat-damp hair out of my eyes and I look up, remembering how just a simple touch of my skin sent him to the edges of control when we first met. But now there's none of that raging Pingian libido there, just a sweet sympathetic smile as he cups my chin and begins to dab my brow with a wet cloth. “Why have you not informed me of your sickness?”

I grunt and start to shiver as another hard cramp sends a barrage of hot liquid splashing into the john. I haven't passed anything solid for two weeks and I hate this, hate my weakness and his gentle touch as he starts to nursemaid me. 

“Because there's nothing you can do about it. Your planet is poisonous to me, all of it, the entire environment. I don't think I've got more than a few days left, if that.”

I don't know what I'm expecting, a comment of surprise or concern, or maybe that he'd throw himself at my ankles and swear to get me out of here, no matter what it takes. I didn't expect this, him simply continuing to calmly sponge me down.

“You musst see the Sen's healer once more.”

“There's no point doing anything but accepting the inevitable, but thanks.”

He rinses out the cloth in the shallow basin beside him before wringing it out over my head, allowing the cool water to trickle down my face, neck and back. “I had grown to expect more of you.”

“Well, I'm sorry to let you down once more but, there you go, I'm fallible.”

Stoods stands back from me at that while I carefully wipe my ass, wincing because my butthole feels like it's on fire, then he looks down at me with his head tilted to one side in a posture so similar to Spock that it feels like my heart breaks all over again. “You are a strong, willful man, ruled by your heart in the same manner that I am mysself. You are proud, and have ressource beyond meassure, and you will see the healer once again, my friend. It is of utmosst importance that you do, and that is all I am able to speak on the matter.”

“Wait. What are you talking about?”

“I do not involve mysself in matters of politics.”

“Stoods, what are you trying to tell me? I knew it, you do know something.”

His face is carefully blank. “Do you require my assisstance to the pool, or wissh for me to remain so that you are not beset with pains and put yoursself in danger of drowning?”

“Yes, I require you to stay. Talk to me.” I manage to stand, grasping at his arm, my shorts around my ankles but I'm beyond caring. “Tell me what you know. Tell me, dammit, my life might depend on it.”

I seem to have appealed to his sense of right, his massive shoulders lifting and falling on a heavy sigh. “Every word I may speak on it puts me, and therefore my hussband, in danger. But the attendants speak amongsst themsselves and there has been talk.”

“Of what? I swear to you that I'll keep you out of this.”

“You do not possess the power necessary to achieve that aim.”

“I need to know.”

“I musst attend to my other duties, and will return to esscort you to your living quarters shortly.”

“Stoods, fuck, please.” But he ignores me, walking stiffly around the flickering pool towards the door. “Stoods, come on, I'm begging you for your help. What have you heard?”

He doesn't turn to face me, his voice a low hiss as he whispers one word, _'Revolution'_ , before activating the door and disappearing down the corridor.

~*~

He's weeping silently, his shoulders shaking as he turns from me and covers his face with both hands. Bones' husband has been a discreet, almost shy presence in my life these past few weeks, barely exchanging more than a few niceties before starting to ask for a list of symptoms, and now he's sobbing his heart out a foot away from me on the bed.

“Pishn? What's the matter? Was it something I said?”

“No, no, Jamess of Sextus.” He sniffs, blowing his nose into a cloth that he stuffs back into his medical kit as he continues to hiccup with suppressed cries. “Jusst to look at your face . . .”

He crumbles again and I haven't got a clue about what the hell I can do to help him out. “My face? My face is making you cry? I'm not that ugly.”

“No, you are almost perfection itself. Like him, my beautiful hussband, who you have taken from me.”

He scrambles for the cloth again to weep into while I try to get my head around the concept of anyone thinking Bones is beautiful. Hot in a squinty sort of way once he's got a full head of steam going, I'm the first to admit it, but beautiful? “I'm sorry. You must hate me, I'm aware of that.”

“No!” Pishn sniffles into his cloth then turns to face me, twin tear tracks marking dark paths on his shining face, his eyelashes spiked around eyes a brighter purple than most. “No, Jamess of Sextus, you saved him and, for that, I owe you my life. I above all am aware of your sacrifice for thosse we so love and I cannot repay your bravery, but pleasse know that I am faithful to your causse.”

“My cause?” I didn't know I had one of them. “You must miss him. I know I do.”

“My heart witherss without the light of his pressence, but I would rather Leonard livess on elssewhere than dies cradled within my adoring arms. Although, without his greatesst friend, as I believe you are, his days would be all the poorer.”

“True.” 

He nods in agreement while wiping his nose. Seriously, these people never get my jokes. 

“Which is why I feel the ability to state that I am certain he will never give up. _The freedom of hope susstains us_ , Jamess of Sextus.”

That phrase again, one that Posd said to me back in my cell. I'm sure it holds meaning for them, maybe linking up with Stoods' mention of revolution, but I'm too weak to start putting it all together in my mind, the sickness making it impossible to stop shivering for a moment. I'm not sure when I last managed to keep food down, my body a continual mess of muscle cramps and bone-deep aches, the pain in my head growing by the hour. Maybe the end's closer than I thought, and my mind races to Spock, wondering what he's doing and if he's got the capability to miss me at all. Hell, I know that he does. Spock, God, _Spock_ , we had a connection beyond my understanding that I wish we'd had more time to explore. I can't believe that I missed for so long how his eyes are the stars that guide me, or how one half-smile from him renders the transporter obsolete, like I could soar into the skies unaided.

“The toxin is taking itss hold. There is little I can do for you, save easse your passage.”

A million dirty jokes spring to mind but I suddenly don't have the energy to make them. Definitely don't have the audience. “You're going to drug me up? Excellent, bring it on.”

“I musst warn you that the drug itsself contains quantities of tritanium that may hassten your end.”

I swallow on a dry throat and reach out for the silvery transparent flask he hands me, which is full of that same heady golden liquid. “Good. My job's done here. Is it possible to overdose on this stuff?”

His eyes fill with tears once more and he shakes his head as he presses at my shoulder with fingers that are surprisingly delicate in touch, considering their size. “It is not, so drink deeply. Your shoulder pains you still?” 

I take a small sip of the sweet wine, not wanting to risk my gut throwing another literal shit fit. “No more or less than anything else.”

“Know that the gratitude of the men of Ping goes with you, Captain Jamess.” His hiss worms into my ear as he leans in to check the strapping of my bandage. “Your story will be told for generationss to come.”

Great. Everyone's grateful to me. I guess I didn't manage to save the hundreds that my dad did but at least I saved my friends. I saved Spock and you'd think that'd help more than it does, but I wasted a full year with him, memorizing his every word and subtle expression, his neat manners and wry sense of humor, the simmering emotional self that I've grown to learn is never far from the surface, even in calmer times. I wasted it waiting for him to notice me and jerking myself stupid with his name on my lips like some sex-starved teenager. 

“My Jamess! Hussband, word has reached me of your ills.”

Sextus storms through the opening door, the vanishing mists of the tritanium whirling around him like dark wings as he speeds across the room to throw himself on the bed next to me, jarring my body painfully and setting my belly to grumble in warning.

“Easy, Sextus. Don't move me around too much.”

“My healer, report to me on what ailss this sweet figure?” Sextus strokes down my cheek and over my beard with the back of one thick finger. “Dearesst, my only, I would save you your pain and take it into mysself if I could.”

Pishn has left the bed and is wiping his hands, I'm hoping on a cleaner cloth than the one he was holding earlier. “What have you heard, Prime Sen?”

“Your assistant reported to my offices that you had been called by Stoods of Pinsnah to assist my hussband. What is your sickness, hussband? You cannot keep it from me.” 

I smile weakly, finally able to pity him, knowing that whatever insanity he's infected with means that he believes he loves me completely. “I think it's time we had that talk. Pishn, if you could give us a minute? A cycle, I mean. Several cycles.” I correct myself as he frowns in incomprehension.

“Of coursse, Jamess of Sextus. Prime Sen, I will wait in your chamberss beyond to confirm whatever medical information your hussband has to impart to you. My patient, do not forget your medication.”

I toast him with my flask as he leaves us, Sextus settling into the bed next to me, placing an arm across my prone figure with considerate gentleness.

“What is it you wissh to speak to me, my only love?”

How to start? 

“Look at me, Sextus. Really look at me. Don't you notice anything different about me from when you first saw me on your comm system?”

“I first saw you in your Federation's holovids, my Jamess. Your beauty, your potency and strength. I knew then that you were my only match, my soul's true equal.”

“That's all very well, but don't I look different to you now?”

“Your chin hairss are much grown. They add a certain additional massculinity to your appearance, little one.”

“No, Sextus.” I throw back the covers as far as I can. “I'm half the man you met. I'm covered in bruises that aren't healing, I'm unable to eat. Look at my shorts.” 

I pull the waistband out, my hipbones poking out above the flat hollow of my belly. “Remember how these were once too tight?”

“You are perhapss somewhat slimmed down, but that excites my virility, lover. Such slender perfection.”

His hand strokes over my stomach possessively and I don't have the strength left to push his hand away. “But do you remember what me and Bones told you, about the tritanium poisoning us? It's killing me. I'm dying, Sextus.”

His hand pauses in its caress and he looks up at me, his eyes filling with desperation. “But that was a transsparent ploy to turn my heart away from you. Now that you have accepted me as your hussband, there is no need for such deception.”

I don't think I have the time left to get this through to him so I take his face in the fingers of my one hand, stroking through his glossy curls and thumbing over his mouth. “I meant what I told you that day in the Great Ring. Every word.” Okay, that's too much bullshit even for me to get away with. “Well, not _every_ word, but I meant it when I swore I'd live out the rest of my days with you as your husband. I'm just not sure that I have a full day left. I'm sorry.”

“No.” It's cracked and husky. “No, my Jamess. Thiss cannot be, we have our lives ahead of us. Full and happy, children and friends and sharing of oursselves.”

I've got nothing left to say, so repeat myself instead. “I'm sorry, Sextus.”

“No. Do you hear me, my Jamess? I refusse this! I will not let it happen, Pishn and his healers can soothe your ills and return you to your former strengths, I am certain of it.”

“Pishn knows I'm dying, too. He'll tell you that every word of this is true.”

I can tell that I'm mumbling, the few small sips of wine I've managed beginning to take effect, or maybe it's the sickness taking over my brain, swamping the few healthy cells I've got left. I've never been more exhausted or ready to lie down and let the darkness come.

“No, pleasse! My lover, my heart's match, you cannot leave me as I will surely die from it mysself. I will follow at your heels willingly rather than let you go.”

“Sextus, I'm sorry.” He's sobbing into my stomach now, that big golden body shaking with emotion that I can't deny is real to him. I stroke through his hair again, wanting to provide some sort of comfort. “But I'm tired and I can't have this discussion again.”

His eyes are brimming with more tears as he looks at me with eyes that reflect everything I've felt since watching Spock say goodbye. In this moment he shares my heartbreak. Then his tears flow down his cheeks and he closes his eyes, shifting on the bed to curl up behind me, swamping me carefully as he pulls me into his embrace. “Then resst, dear one, and forgive me if I choosse to selfisshly steal the chance to witness every one of your precious breaths.”

“That would be great.”

It's the honest truth, because I don't want to sleep alone and even his arms are a comfort as I slide into a sleep I'm not sure I'll wake from.

~*~

What the – Oh, this is excellent. I've started hallucinating. Or I'm dead and this is some fucked up afterlife, my mind bringing Spock into being, glowing with vitality and strength, beard gone, his face staring down at me intensely from the foot of the bed. I whisper his name to myself, a benediction, and his eyes flare with emotion. I must be dreaming again. He lifts a phaser and points it at me and I'm opening my mouth to tell him to stop, don't shoot, but all that comes out is a croak. He doesn't fire, holding it there steady, his thumb ready, his eyes burning into me stronger than any phaser fire. Then it definitely turns into a nightmare because Sneck is at his shoulder, looking down at me with the arrogant sneer that makes me want to smack it off his face. He places his hand on Spock's shoulder and they look united.

But the phaser's not pointed at me and there's a body against mine under the covers, warm, naked skin, hard muscle, a mouth at my shoulder. It's the most vivid dream I remember having, turning to look at Sextus's face sleeping peacefully at my side, his shaggy head tucked into his arm, his other hand curled over my stomach. I feel almost tender towards him, looking down at him for the short second it takes for Sneck to speak and for me to realize that I'm not dreaming, that I'm awake, Spock looking down at me in bed with Sextus.

“Sextus of Jamess, awaken. Your desstiny awaits you.”

“What's going on?” It's spoken through a dry cough that starts the pain up in my head and I flinch, pressing the ball of my hand to my forehead. “Spock?”

“Captain. Wake your husband.”

“He's not my . . .” There's no point. Whatever's going on, and I start to dare hope it's some kind of rescue attempt, I don't have the energy for explanations. I nudge Sextus with my elbow, moving away from him as Spock keeps the phaser focused on Sextus alone. “Hey, Sextus. We've got visitors.”

“Hmm?” He rubs his nose against my shoulder and hugs into me tighter. “Tell them to go. I wissh to sleep further.”

“I don't think that's an option.”

“It is not.” Sneck's wearing some kind of animal fur hanging from his shoulders, held with a glittering clasp. It's the first thing I've seen here that doesn't look like it's made from tritanium, something old instead. “Sextus, waken!” He kicks the end of the bed. “You would have me drag you unclothed from your sleep?”

“Only you possess such barbaric mannerss, Sneck of Padnuss.” Sextus shifts from me to sit up, yawning wide and combing his fingers through his hair, his face taking on a regal cast as he imperiously lifts his chin. “Who admitss you to my sleeping chamber? Explain yoursselves and your pressence here.”

“Hussband! Come explain to your former Sen what bringss us to rousst him out his slumberss.”

Now Padnus is scurrying through the door wearing a placatory expression as he smiles timidly at Sextus. Jesus, this is happening. I try to sit up but my strength fails me so I lie there, a burning acidity rising in my throat as I swallow it down and wonder what's going to happen next. More specifically, exactly when the rescuing's going to begin, because my lungs are tight this morning and breathing feels like I'm fighting against a thick band that won't allow my chest to expand.

“Sextus of Jamess, your rule is come to an end. The five familiess are now in control of your government, with the support of your people.”

It's like none of them know Sextus, his body stilling next to mine, his eyes narrowing as he takes it in. “As ussual you speak in nonssenses, Padnuss of Sneck. I am loved by the men of Ping.”

Sneck growls, grabbing the end of the coverlet and tugging it back hard exposing my wasted body in its sagging shorts, and Sextus, in all his bare golden glory. I start to shiver as the colder air hits me, unable to stop it, my voice quavering and my lips cracking as I look at Spock again. I can't not look. He's as matchless as he ever was, his arms muscled under his Sciences shirt, his legs so long and elegant in those black pants that look like they were designed with him in mind. I know I must look like some ancient unearthed corpse deprived of its wrappings.

“Commander, enlighten me on what the hell's going on?”

“You dare!” 

Too late, they got Sextus pissed. He's been hovering over the edge of madness since I've known him, a sociopath unable to to empathize with any one person outside of himself, charming, egocentric and prone to fits of grandiosity, and breathtakingly single-minded when it comes to his own needs. I give Spock an urgent _Holy fuck, don't poke the tiger_ look and the skin creases between his eyebrows where he clearly hasn't got a clue what I'm trying to impart.

“You dare inssult me and my hussband in this fasshion.” He gets up to stand on the bed like some Roman statue, his muscles bulging with a might unmatched by the admittedly ripped Sneck or Padnus. “You dare to come into the quarterss of the Sen and spout poissonous assinities that only reflect your dessire to unseat the greatesst Sen this world has known.”

“Spock . . .” This is going to turn nasty, I can sense it, the air getting thick, my stomach beginning its usual morning dance of nausea. There's going to be a fight and I'm not going to be worth a damn.

“I have the former Sen in my sights, Captain.”

“The weak alwayss ressort to weapons. You have no strength with which to challenge me and my greatness. And you, Padnuss, sniveling worm, will pay for your betrayals.”

His hands are clenching and unclenching, his muscles bunched ready to spring. Surely they can see that he's about to go off like a warp breach but Sneck starts to laugh, a low hissing sound full of smug triumph, almost a snigger as if Sextus is the most pitiful thing he's ever encountered.

“You pleasse me, Sextus of Jamess. I had hoped you would not retire with dignity and so force me to bring you to your kneess.”

“Which is what you have so longed for, is it not, you overbred beasst? The five familiess are nothing and my rule is abssolute.” Sextus takes one step, then another towards them at the end of the bed and I start wishing I had the quilt back so I had something to hide under. “Lower your ridiculous armamentss, Spock of Sneck and Padnuss. You have no place in these occurences.”

“I am here to secure the immediate release of Captain James Kirk. Comply and we will absent ourselves from your current upheaval.”

“You.” Sextus's eyes narrow further to slits, color rising up his chest and neck. “It iss you, I have susspected it all along. You would take him from me. You dessire him for yoursself.”

Spock's expression doesn't move a muscle. “You are imprisoning a citizen of the United Federation of Planets against his will, and I am authorized by Starfleet and by the new government of Ping to ensure his captivity now comes to an end. Release Captain Kirk to my supervision.”

“I will not, you ssnake, you foul interloper. I have heard of you Vulcanss and your abilitiess, you poissoned his mind againsst me from the start.” Sextus is now standing on the corner of the bed closest Spock, towering over him, the phaser looking like a kid's toy in comparison to that wall of solid chest. Unless Spock's got it set to fry, which I doubt, knowing him, I'm worried it'll have as much effect on Sextus as a spitball on a charging rhino. “He is my hussband, and has pledged himsself to me and me alone. I have his word.”

“If I can interrupt a second here . . .” They all look over at my mumbled sentence, every word an effort now. “Sextus, calm down. You can't fight a revolution alone.”

“But, my Jamess, thiss puny specimen would have us be parted.”

“I made my promise to you under duress. You can't expect me to hold to it.”

“Little one, pleasse.” The tears start again, his mouth folding in on itself. “I will die without the light of your pressence.”

Sneck laughs again, that gross hiss setting my head ringing. “No, Sextus of Jamess, you will take your punisshment in the Great Ring as befits the oppressor of Pingian men.”

“Cram it, Sneck. Let me talk.” Just the few words I've spoken have taken it out of me and the bile's rising again, the shivering growing stronger. “The light of my presence grows weak and, either way, you're going to have to learn to live without it, Sextus. I need to go with the Commander.”

Wrong thing to say. He roars 'Desspised trespasser!' and launches himself at Spock with the speed of a rattlesnake striking, knocking the phaser out of Spock's hand with such force that it shatters against the far wall. But Spock's lightning-fast reflexes kick in and he blocks a blow from Sextus with his forearm, jabbing at a point beneath Sextus's ribs with his pointed fingers which makes Sextus cry out in pain and rage, stumbling off the bed to grab Spock with both hands. He headbutts Spock, making Spock stagger and blink as if dazed, Sextus powerfully backhanding Sneck to the floor as Sneck tries to pull him away from Spock. All I am able to do is observe, my arms strong as wet paper as I try to drag myself to the end of the bed to reason with Sextus, Padnus crouching over the fallen Sneck protectively as Sextus drags Spock to his feet, cupping Spock's chin with one hand to lift Spock off the ground. 

“Sextus, please, don't do this . . .” 

Dammit, my gut's acting up and I start to vomit over the bed, spitting it out and trying once again to haul myself over to them as Spock manages to kick his way out of Sextus's grasp. But Sextus spins fast, driving his elbow into Spock's neck before lifting Spock once more and shaking him like a dog with a ragdoll.

“I'll stay.” I bring up another mouthful of acid and spit it over the side of the bed, the pains of the cramps taking over until I can't get my words out, my whisper dying out to a dull wheeze. “Sextus, I'll stay, don't kill him.”

Spock doesn't lose his composure for a second, his face darkening to green as Sextus squeezes the air out of Spock's throat, spittle flying from his raging lips. Spock's reaching out, concentrating on trying to get to that point on Sextus's shoulder that would enable him to put an instant stop to this but his arms aren't long enough, Sextus beginning to laugh manically. 

“I would have you die, Vulcan intruder, and then he shall be mine into hisstory and beyond. He has alwayss been mine and alwayss will be, and you will recognize the truth of thiss before you perissh.”

_BAM!_

Spock falls to the floor with a pained 'oof!' as Sextus crashes down like a falling tree. I swear I feel the bed quake as he hits the floor and stays there, knocked out cold by the painting Stoods is now trying to replace on the wall, frowning when he can't make the crumpled frame fit flat to the wall. 

“It is a shame. Thiss work is by a renowned artisst and I fear it is now damaged beyond repair.” 

I stare at Stoods open-mouthed. “I thought you didn't like to get involved in politics?”

“The freedom of hope susstains us, Captain Jamess. Bessides,” He stares down at Sextus then pokes him with a sandled toe. “I found that I could not bear lissten to a single word out of that monsstrous egotisstical mouth one moment longer.”

Something tells me I'm going to be a lot more considerate of Rand's needs in the future.

~*~

“I need to see him.”

“No, you don't. I'm worried the transporter's going to be too much for you as it is. Lord knows you've put your body through enough without the additional stressors of dismantling it on an atomic level. Goddamn unnatural contraption.”

“Bullshit. I'm doing better since that last hypo.”

“No, Jim, you're an hour away from compost and I need to get you back to Sickbay.” Bones clicks his scanner off, keying a few commands into his medical tricorder. “Okay. Into the chair with him.”

Stoods lifts me from the bed as if I weigh about as much as a baby, settling me into the chair then tucking the regulation-issue thermal blanket around me to make sure I keep warm. 

“I believe you are ready to depart with your friendss, Captain Jamess.”

I take his hand, squeezing it feebly as he blushes. “I can't begin to thank you enough. Stoods, my man, I'm going to miss you. You tell that jealous husband of yours that he's got some serious competition if we ever figure out a way to limit tritanium's toxicity.”

“I think that I will choosse to dissregard that requesst.” He disengages his hand and smiles down at me, a true smile for the first time, wide and one that'd make me more than a little weak-kneed if I was able to stand. “And I believe you have your own heart's passions to follow. Do not wasste that which has been placed in your handss once more, my friend.”

“Go tell it on the mountain.” Bones fires up the chair, which hums as it rises up to hover an inch above the floor. “Now, no bitching, I'm getting you off this rock.”

“No. Five minutes with him, that's all I'm asking. He's sick, you know that.”

A sigh from above me as Bones begins to guide my chair out the door of the Sen's private quarters, now overrun with Sneck's assistants who are wasting no time in ringing in the changes, bringing in ceremonial shields, furs, helmets with great phallic horns and a shit ton of paintings way dirtier than anything Sextus ever displayed. “In so far as you can describe a megalomanic, sociopathic, walking personality disorder who maintained a fascistic totalitarian state for three generations unchallenged as merely _sick_ , then yeah, I guess I can't disagree with that. I don't know what good you think it'll do.”

“It's not for him. It's for me.”

“Dammit Jim, don't tell me you actually developed feelings for that brute?” Bones drops his voice, leaning over the chair's back to mutter in my ear. “I know all these guys have their own charm but we heard what he was planning to do to you, in the public arena of all places. You don't owe him a single second of your time and I need you to put your physiological recovery first.”

“Five minutes, Bones. I need to, I don't know, put a lid on this place and he's a part of that.”

An annoyed huff and I grin, loving every pained grump that Bones can come up with, which has been a fair few so far. Fuck, I've missed him too much. “Five minutes, no longer, and I'm going to chaperone.”

“I'm strong enough to see him alone.”

“Five minutes with me as your wing man or this chair will suffer a surprise malfunction and immediately drive you to the transport co-ordinates by itself.”

“Aren't you doctor types supposed to put the needs of your patient first?”

He ruffles my hair. “I am, you cretinous twit.”

Sextus looks so small in there, tucked into his knees, cowed and shivering wrapped in a thin blanket, and trapped in a similar cell to the one he had me held in. A thick bandage covering the wound on his forehead is stained dark gold and his eyes are staring at the far wall while he mutters to himself, rocking back and forth. I nod to the guard who switches off the viewscreen on the wall and steps forward to open the door for me and Bones, following us to stand close behind.

“What is the meaning of thiss interruption of my thoughtss?” Sounds like even revolution hasn't managed to knock any of the ego out of him. But his eyes light up when they see me, his face splitting in a beautiful smile. “My Jamess! Oh, sweet one, you have come to comfort my ills.”

He throws off the blanket and gets to his feet, crossing the tiny cell in two steps, Bones clearing his throat and fixing Sextus with his best 'I've got a hypo and I'm not afraid to use it' glare. “Hands off the captain and keep your distance. You've done enough damage already.”

“Bones, c'mon. No, Sextus, I've come to say goodbye. I'm beaming back to the ship.”

“No. No, no no, pleasse, you musst not say such thingss, dearesst.” He crouches in front of me to take my hands in his, and his head's at the height of mine as I watch his eyes well up. “You musst not leave me here with these animals. They say I have done terrible things, when all I have done, I have done for the glory of the men of Ping. Their liess are as a dissease, eating away at the heartss of thosse who once loved me.”

“There's nothing I can do about that.” I rub my thumbs over the backs of his massive hands, remembering their strength and feeling how he's now trembling harder than I am. “And I know you think you loved me but I sincerely hope you can move on now, take your punishment with a man's heart and make amends with those you've wronged. Can you do that for me?”

“I could do anything for you, little one, if I had you at my side.”

“That's not going to happen but I hope things work out for you. There's someone else out there for you, someone better suited for you to pour all that love into. Make this better, Sextus. Help heal your people.”

He bows his head, closing his eyes causing tears to pour down his cheeks as he nods mutely, resigned, releasing my hands from his. “I will do my besst to pleasse you and make you proud of me, my Jamess.”

“That's all I can ask.” I stroke over his hair one last time, one of his curls wrapping itself around my finger as if every part of him is trying to hold me there with him. “Goodbye, Sextus. Look after yourself and get healthy, okay?”

He's curled on the floor at my feet now on his knees, his shoulders racked with tearing sobs, and his stuttered 'Farewell, little one' twists my heart in a guilt I'm not sure I deserve. I look at Bones over my shoulder.

“I think I'm done here.”

“It's about damn time.”

Sneck and Padnus are waiting for us at the transporter co-ordinates along with a relieved-looking Giotto, in that first same cavern we originally beamed down into all those weeks past. I'm huddled down in the chair fighting sleep, my body weighted with the medication Bones is already pumping through my system, the sharp pains dulling to a low throbbing ache that I feel everywhere, and I don't think I'm capable of dealing with Sneck or his antagonism right now.

“Hey, Cupcake.” I wince as he shakes my hand and 'Captain's me a little too enthusiastically. “Your friends here come to see that I'm gone for good?”

“On the contrary, Captain Jamess. We would not wissh for your pressence here to end without a feasst in your honor, if it was not for your ailmentss. Our people owe you a great debt.”

Sneck bows low from the waist, Padnus following. Okay. Wasn't expecting that. “Uh, not at all. I'm just glad I'm going home while I still retain the ability to breathe.”

“Do not doubt your influence in assissting our great revolution. It hass been a long time coming, Captain Jamess, and planned for many yearss. All we needed was one lasst disstraction to kept our beloved former Sen otherwisse diverted while we moved into place.”

“You used our being here as an opportunity to take down Sextus?”

If by any chance I live a hundred years more, it won't be long enough to forget that aggravating, skin-crawling smile of Sneck's. “Who do you think perssuaded the Sen of the value of Federation assisstance? My hussband here is a credit to his forebearss.”

Padnus flushes in pleasure as Sneck caresses his arm, but I guess Bones hasn't leveled out my hormones yet as I feel pressure rising, heat building all over me. “You invited us here for _this?_ To whore me out to the Sen as a distraction?”

“Of coursse, Captain Jamess. Why elsse?” He genuinely doesn't seem to understand why I might take offense to that. “A few off-worlders would have been a small price to pay for our freedom, and their hussbands assissted our effortss while they had the additional benefit of your crew's mosst intimate company.”

“I don't believe these guys. Get me out of here.” I spit it through gritted teeth. “Jesus, Lieutenant, get me off this goddamn toxic rock and away from these self-congratulatory assholes before I pop a blood vessel.”

“No problem, Captain. And while I'm at it,” Cupcake hocks a loogie on the ground at their feet with impressive accuracy. I knew there was a reason I promoted him. “That's what we think of this stinking planet. You're welcome to it. Now signal our ship to get us the hell out of here.”

The swirling white lights of the transporter dance around me and I close my eyes, the brightness too much after six weeks of living underground. But then I breathe in and smell her, my beautiful bird, her recycled air that's sweeter and more refreshing than an ice cold beer on a hot summer day. No sugary musk of tritanium, just a clean, pure atmosphere that I take in by lungfuls until I'm dizzy and ready to pass out. 

“Take it easy, Captain.” Bones' scanner starts whirring by my earlobe but I don't open my eyes, just wanting this, the scent of home. “Doctor McCoy to Sickbay: Prepare for an emergency transportation. Scotty, I need him there now. Right now.”

“Aye, Doc. Coming righ' up.”

“Hey, where's Spock . . . Bones, where's Spock?” I'm gasping, my lungs starting to feel like they're not working, like I've beamed into an unoxygenated atmosphere by accident. “Something's hap. . .”

I can't talk, nothing coming out as my body cramps up, my head snapping backwards. Somewhere in the distance I can feel the jab of a hypo at my neck and hear Bones shout out _'He's seizing. Now, Scotty, I need that transport now!'_


	8. Chapter 8

“I know you're in there, Jimbo. Open up those baby blues for me.”

“You're only calling me that because you know I'll wake up to tell you to cut it out.” I open my eyes to squint up at Bones, who's leaning over me on the biobed. “So I'm not dead?”

“Not yet, but give me time to come up with something . . .” He hands me a cup and helps me into a sitting position before parting his hair and pointing at a miniscule speck of gray. “You see this? White hairs. I'm a man in my prime and you're actively contributing to the onset of achromotrichia.”

“Baby, you'll always be pretty to me.” I scratch into the beard that's living on borrowed time now I'm not dead and back on-board. “What happened back there?”

“'Back there' was two days ago.” He starts scanning me as I begin to notice stuff, primarily the lack of agonizing pain.“I'd hoped that the steroid shot would buffer the transition into a new atmosphere but your lungs were already half-full of fluid and couldn't take the sudden change in environment.”

“Ew. Hey, nothing hurts. You're a little miracle, you know that?”

“You have no idea.” He tosses a PADD into my lap. “Want to read up on the godwaful mess you were in once we got you here?”

“No. Gimme a run down, I've got cotton mouth.”

I sip from my cup as he perches on the side of my bed, and the water's untainted, plain and tasteless and it hits me for the first time that I'm not there anymore. I'm _not on Ping._ I'm free. I don't know where to start taking that on.

“Precancerous tumors in three of your four cerebral lobes, your lymph glands, your kidneys and liver, upper colon and testes.” 

I near spit out my water and he glances at me. 

“Yeah. Noncardiogenic pulmonary edema. Septis presenting with tachycardia, fever and abnormal white blood cell count. Muscle wastage, dehydration and severe malnutrition, high nanogrammatic count of androgen and luteinizing hormone. All major organs enlarged, soft tissues inflamed and ulcerated. Gastrointestinal distress, including,” He takes a deep breath here. “Duodenal peptic ulcers, multiple counts. Colonic distension and ulcerative colitis, pancreatic atrophy. Your gut was several shades of fucked up. I fixed up your shoulder, too. Consider that your complimentary gift as our most frequent customer.”

“I'm not sure that's fair.” He sighs and scrubs over his face with his hands. When he takes them away I notice he looks exhausted, lines digging deep each side of his mouth. “Okay, Doctor, spill – When was the last time you slept?”

“You were this close, Jim. Nearly lost you several times.”

“But I'm all better now, right?” I stretch out my arms, the shaking gone. “Feel like a new man.”

“You're weak and underweight, and I don't want you loading your shiny new gut with all kinds of greasy, spicy crap. I've programmed you a new diet. No spices, nothing too acidic or fibrous, but bland, high energy stodge. And no alcohol, either. You can stick to synthehol for a month.”

“A _month?_ ”

“Gentle exercise only. No coffee.”

“Now you're just being mean.”

“Maybe the hobgoblin'll share some of his tea with you.” He reaches out to pat my shoulder, his fingers stroking over my surgical tunic. “I can't advise you on that, but you've got to realize you've been through significant trauma. This is going to hit you _hard_.”

“Yeah.” I pat his hand and stare at my toes. “I know. So. You know that I . . . Spock . . .”

“I've got eyes in my head, don't I?”

“What the fuck am I going to do.”

It's not a question. His hand stills and there's a long pause, his words gruff when they come. “What you're going to do is focus on getting well. We're on route to Earth, almost four days out. There's this guy at Starfleet Medical I knew in the academy who's the only person I'd trust to poke around that intricate psyche of yours.”

“No.”

“Starfleet's authorized a month's medical leave. You're on vacation, kiddo.”

“No! Jesus, I can't – ”

“You can and you will.”

How can I make him understand? “I just got back here. There's this whole mess to sort out – ”

“Which someone else is responsible for.” The stroking starts again for a moment before his hand falls away. “We're all trying to deal with it. The whole away team's on partial duties only for four weeks, myself included when I'm not trying to glue you back together at the seams. I swear, I've seen decomposing bodies in a better state than yours was. But I know you, and know what you've been putting yourself through. You volunteered to die. That's huge, considering your personal history.”

“Don't send me away.” It feels panicky and desperate, my eyes prickling. “Keep me off duty onboard. Please, Bones. Don't make me beg.”

“You'd last less than forty eight hours before you started poking your nose into ship's business.” He gets up off the biobed, lifting the PADD and making notes, probably that I've been officially informed of medical leave and am reacting unfavorably as expected. “I know you need the familiar around you now, I get that, but you're no good to us here till you've processed your trauma and are fit for duty. Do I make myself clear?”

So he does understand. “Crystal. Four days?”

“Give or take a few hours.”

“Then get me back to my quarters.”

Four days. It's not nearly enough.

~*~

“Dammit, Yeoman, I'm not an invalid! I can do it myself.”

So much for being nicer to Rand. Her eyes go big and worried, the spoon in her hand quivering before she grips it harder and thrusts it at my mouth once more with renewed determination. “Doctor McCoy was adamant that I got you to eat, and you keep pushing the plate away.”

“I'm full.”

“Eat it.”

“'Sir'.”

She rolls her eyes and huffs. Looks like discipline's gotten a little lax while I've been away. “Eat the mashed potato, sir. Three more spoons and I'll let you stop.”

“'Let' me? Give that here.” I grab the spoon from her and stuff three spoonfuls in at once, spraying reconstituted potato over my knees when I try to speak. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic. Sir.” Her hand moves towards my lap with a napkin.

“I'll take care of that.”

I take the napkin from her to clean up the mess, throwing it into the lunch tray and covering up the cup of pudding. She gives me a 'nice try' smile and pulls it off, taking the cup of pudding and placing it on the table in front of me. “I'll be back in three hours with some hearty soup and crackers. I want to see this empty when I do. Understood, Captain?”

Oh, dear God, Rand's turned into my mom. “You going to put me in my jammies and bunny slippers, too? How about a night-night story when you tuck me into bed?”

She mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like _In your dreams, buddy_ as she crosses to the cycler to dispose of the rest of the potato, crashing plates as she does so. Then she tidies the rest of the tray and turns to me again with a bright smile that's almost managing to hide her irritation, the tray gripped firmly between both hands. 

“Anything else? I'm only five seconds away if you need help with anything.”

“I'm fine, thank you.” I rub a hand over my head, feeling like an asshole, which is fair considering that's how I've been acting over the last few hours. “Sorry I'm so . . . y'know.”

There it is. That sympathetic smile that everyone's been shooting in my direction, Bones' staff, every crew member we passed on the way here as Bones wheeled me all the way, and Rand herself the rest of the morning. The one that makes me want to tear my hair out by the roots. 

“It's okay. We all understand. I don't know how you could live through something so difficult, I mean, I heard that they were parading you around naked – ” She flusters and looks down at the tray, picking at a stray piece of potato. “I'm sorry, Captain. I'm being inappropriate again, aren't I?”

“No.” I've bitten her head off before about gossiping, needing to be sure she's discreet enough for the job. “It's nice that you're take an interest in how I'm doing, I'm just not ready to talk about it yet. And no, I wasn't naked, so do me a favor and stop that rumor in its tracks.”

A nod. “Yessir. Three hours. Eat your pudding.”

“'Sir'.”

“Sir. Don't forget to eat your pudding, sir.”

“Much better.” I take a small spoonful and manage to swallow it down. “There. See?”

“Good job, sir. Keep it up. Five seconds away, okay?”

“I'll be fine. Go.”

She almost crashes the tray into Spock's chest as the door slides open, Spock raising an eyebrow at her as she gasps, “Jeez Louise, you surprised the cra– uh, I mean, sorry, Commander, I didn't expect to see you there.”

“Do you require assistance with the tray, Yeoman?”

It's good to see that I'm not the only one that gets all awkward around Spock. “Uh, no. I gotta, uh . . . Commander Spock for you, Captain.”

“Send him in, thanks.”

My heartrate jumps up a notch as he walks across my quarters towards me, the door closing behind him so it's just the two of us here. Nobody watching us. Nobody listening in. He's been in here alone with me a hundred times before but not like this. I look at him and my body tightens with helpless love and lust, his face so pristine and handsome, not just beautiful but so masculine with that strong jaw and firm mouth. I feel like my longing must reach out to him across the space between us, too big to keep inside me. But his face is expressionless as he comes to stand a couple of meters away from my chair, his hands crossed behind his back in the way that displays the long, lean lines of his body to perfection. Thank God these sweats are baggy.

“Your physical appearance suggests that you are much recovered, Captain.”

“Hello to you, too. Sit?”

“Thank you.” He perches on the couchette opposite me, holding out a PADD. “I have prepared an initial report on the away mission to Ping.”

“You know Bones'll have your guts for garters if he knew you were involving me in ship's business.” I take it, not sure if I want to read it or not.

“I was in agreement with Doctor McCoy on the necessity of your medical leave, due to the unique combination of pressures that were placed solely on your person for the duration of our captivity and beyond.”

“You conspired with Bones to send me back to Earth? Thanks a bunch, Judas.”

“If I may be permitted to continue . . .”

His upper lip curls at one corner as he hikes his eyebrow all pissy at me, and I about swoon. Damn him. I'd hate him for making me feel all this if he wasn't so perfect. And adorable. Spock's adorable. I guess I've always known it but never once admitted it to myself. He's cute as shit and solid and hot, and I want to crawl all over him. I look at him almost smiling at me and everything aches. “Sure, fine, go ahead.”

“As I was preparing to qualify . . .I believe that I am familiar enough with your personality traits to understand you will have difficulty separating yourself from ship's business while you remain on-board the Enterprise, and may find the withholding of official information during that period emotionally distressing. I concluded that the sharing of the report would be less harmful to your recovery than if I were to keep it from you and submit it to Admiral Pike without your input.”

“So you risked Bones' ire to let me read your no-doubt excellent report, for the good of my health?”

An inclination of his head, that half-smile again. Now I'm sporting a semi. “Affirmative, Captain.”

“Spock, I'm on medical leave, wearing sweatpants, and my hair's halfway to my shoulders. Don't 'captain' me.”

His eyes look over my hair with scientific detachment and I watch him, lost in how his soft black eyelashes frame those liquid eyes perfectly. “You have shaved your beard. You do not plan an immediate return to a regulation-length cut?”

“I thought I'd try to grow it long enough to put in pigtails. Relax, I'm kidding,” I add as he blinks at me. “Rand's been threatening me with the chop all morning. Doubt I'll be able to hold her off much longer. Seriously, I'm kidding,” as he keeps looking at me with concern, like he's trying to imagine the pigtails in place. “Tomorrow. I've been busy.”

“Indeed.” 

His eyes don't make a move towards the piles of clothes around the bed, the messed sheets, the books and PADDs strewn haphazardly across my desk. I haven't been able to settle to a damn thing all morning. Maybe his report will do the trick. I place the PADD on my coffee table next to the cup of pudding. 

“I'll go over this later and return it to you with notations this afternoon. And, yes, you were right, it probably would've annoyed the piss out of me if I didn't know what was in it.”

“It is not an urgent matter. Admiral Pike –”

“Is being too easy on us if he doesn't want the initial report yesterday. I guess I'm good if you want to submit it immediately as I'm sure there's very little you'll have missed. It's not a big deal.”

“Your input may be valuable. There were occurrences during your prolonged imprisonment that I was not party to.”

“Ditto.”

A slight frown. “I am not familiar with that term.”

“It means that I know there was a hell of a lot of occurrences on Ping that you were aware of and that you kept from me. Oh yeah,” When his eyes shift to stare at his hands. “Don't think I'm not onto you.”

“'Onto' me?” 

“You lied to me, Spock.”

He puffs up and looks down his nose at me. “Vulcans do not lie, Captain.”

“Sure you do. You knew what Sneck and Padnus were planning, the whole revolution thing. There's no way you didn't pick that up from their 'casual interpersonal touches'. I'm right, aren't I?”

“You are correct, but I did not lie to you.”

“You sure as shit didn't tell me.”

“I equivocated.”

“Ever heard of lying by omission? You lied, Spock. You should've told me.”

“It was apparent to me that your priorities at the time was the well-being of the away team and making plans to escape our captivity, and that any additional causes of stress on your person might adversely affect your capability to work towards those goals.”

“That's not up to you, mister. You didn't figure out that the news might've been welcome? That their revolution was something we could've helped with and used for our own purposes?”

“Which is precisely what occurred.”

“Without my input!” The bad mood that's been simmering all day is starting to lash out again. “Dammit, Spock, you know enough to sneak a report to me under Bones' nose, but you don't tell me that the psychopath holding me prisoner and trying to get friendly in the sack was about to be forcibly deposed? No, you'd rather keep me out of the picture then run in at the last second to act the hero and near get your damn head wrung off. It was rash and irresponsible.”

He's outwardly composed but the very tips of his ears are flushed. I notice these details about him all the time, always have. Emotionless, my ass. “Perhaps as 'rash and irresponsible' as a unilateral decision to forfeit one's own existence –” 

“You'd have done the same in my position, don't bullshit me otherwise.” 

I raise my voice over his to shout him down but he carries on in that same steady tone, raising his own to match mine. “To forfeit one's own existence to the benefit of others who might have wished for discussion regarding the matter before any conclusion was reached.”

“We were dying! There wasn't time for discussion!” I rake my hands through my hair, frustrated beyond reason that he's turning this back on me. “You wanted me to wait another half-week before one of our cozy bathtime chats? I couldn't be sure we had that long.”

“I am certain that Doctor McCoy would have been able to – ”

“Bones isn't Captain! Neither are you. It was my job to get you out of there. I managed it in the only way I was able to come up with, being as someone sitting not far from me now decided I was under too much pressure to deal with a very pertinent piece of information that might've changed everything.”

His eyes harden at that. “I am unaware of any Starfleet regulation that makes it the Captain's responsibility to sacrifice his own life to save others.”

“Don't smart-ass me. Your actions potentially put me at further risk. You know you should've told me and I want to make damn sure that doesn't happen again. Am I clear?”

Spock's staring at me intently, his lips slightly parted where his breathing's faster or heavier than usual, and his tone's clipped with icy precision as he stands up from the couchette and folds his hands behind his back again and stares at the wall behind me. “My apologies, Captain, but I do not intend to bear sole responsibility for a chain of command judgments that I deemed to be flawed both in logic and in application.”

It takes me a second to struggle up out of my chair but I manage it as he watches, then I step towards him on rubbery legs to stand almost nose to nose with him, close enough to swap breath. “You might want to rethink that last statement.”

He's still as a statue. “There is no need. My statement stands.”

Never enter a staring contest with a Vulcan. His eyes are bottomless, an unblinking, starless universe, the key to his soul and the auditor of mine. I glare furiously into those eyes, determined to stand up to him and to not give into the powerlessness I experienced on Ping, but second by second the fury leaches out of me, washed away on the tides of his dark eyes' endless sea.

“Aww, dammit. I shouldn't be shouting at you.”

“A sentiment I find myself in agreement with.”

I flop back down into my chair, physically exhausted with such a brief spat and needing to get away from him before I make a fool of myself by falling on him lips-first, the need to do so pulling me towards him every second that we stood so close. “You're right, I know you're right, I made mistakes and I've got a lot of apologies to make. But I don't want you keeping vital information from me like that. Even if I've got a Bat'leth sticking out of my chest and I'm five seconds from bleeding out, you tell me anything I might need to know. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Spock carefully perches once more across from me, his fingers steepled in front of him. “I have meditated on my own motivations for keeping news of the oncoming revolution from you. At the time, as I have described, I believed that there was no logical progression that indicated a beneficial outcome from the revolution for the away team, as I was unaware we had been invited to the planet to facilitate the revolution itself.”

He looks away from me and down at his fingertips, that worried crease appearing between his eyebrows. “But you are correct and it was my duty as your first officer to have informed you of all potentially salient information. It has become apparent to me that I did not inform you of Sneck and Padnus' plans because I believed you were struggling with the emotional stresses of the situation, and I did not wish to add to that burden. I maintain that I did not lie to you but I was in error and, for that, I apologize. It will not happen again.”

He was trying to protect me. It makes me want to weep. 

“You saved my life, Spock. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“As you have formerly saved mine, and I do not believe I am able to extend the same reassurance to you.”

Sassy Vulcan bastard. Fuck, I'm so stupidly in love with him. “Thank you for getting me out of there, Spock.”

A nod, the corner of his lip curling upwards a millimeter and I want to trace it with the tip of my tongue. “You are welcome, Jim.”

“Even if it was rash and irresponsible. I've got so much to thank you for, I don't know where to begin.”

“Our conversation has tired you.” Spock stands abruptly, tugging his Science blues down as I stare up at him, wondering what I did to make him jump up like a scalded cat. “Perhaps we will have the opportunity to speak further once you have rested and read the report.”

“Absolutely. Chess later?”

His pause is barely noticeable. “I am otherwise engaged.”

“Huh. Really. Bones has warned everyone off keeping me up all evening?”

“Doctor McCoy has expressed his concern that you currently require a surfeit of physical and mental relaxation.”

“I'll just bet he has. Tomorrow night?” _Say yes before this gets too pathetic and I have to start pleading._ I've only got four days with him and intend to soak up every second I can before I'm stuck back home getting the contents of my mind reorganized.

“That would be acceptable.” His expression warms, a hint of humor playing around his mouth. He's so beautiful it hurts to look at him and I want to say more, to tell him to stay, but this has taken too much out of me already. “I will leave you to rest. Good afternoon, Jim.”

“Yeah. Bye, Spock.”

I stare at his butt the whole way across my quarters, admiring the way the modest handful of flesh on each cheek tautens then relaxes with each step, the door opening for him automatically. “Captain?”

“You forget something?”

“A reminder to finish your dessert composite.”

I laugh, a deep belly chuckle that feels incredible, the first time I've felt truly alive in weeks. “I'd throw it in your face for that if my arms were strong enough.”

A definite smile, his mouth compressing and his eyes lengthening to black slits as the door closes and blocks his face from view. My body's humming all over from his visit but I don't think I've got the energy to do anything about it, tiredness hitting me in a wall of gray exhaustion. I push myself up from the chair again, my arms feeling like noodles now, my legs barely co-operating as I force myself over to the bed where I gratefully strip down to my shorts. 

It's why my clothes are heaped everywhere. I tried everything this morning, from my uniform blacks to a sweater and my favorite old jeans, but I'm so accustomed now to being mostly bare than everything feels itchy and too heavy. The sweatpants and a worn-thin academy t-shirt were the only things I could handle having next to my skin, and even they felt unnaturally constricting and it's a huge relief to strip out of them, feeling the warm, dry air of my quarters wrapping itself around me.

My bed, oh yeah. I groan with relief as I get into it and pull the covers up. I never thought I'd miss this bed so much, lying on my side now and pressing my face into the over-hard pillow, taking a deep sniff of the clean pillowcase, the lingering laundry fumes something I think it'll take some time for me to take for granted and quit noticing again. My mind's drifting away from my body, that point where they separate and go their own ways for a few hours, and I finally allow myself to imagine that I'd closed the gap between us and kissed him, leaned in and pressed my mouth to Spock's. A thrill of heat shoots through me, my dick slowly filling to full hardness, my legs falling apart as I brush my hand over my chest and think more about kissing Spock. That's all it takes. But nothing's going to stop this nap overtaking me and the last thing I remember is the first stroke of his tongue in my mouth.


	9. Chapter 9

“I miss him. There, I said it.” Scotty hugs his whiskey bottle harder and sighs. “Stupid, I know. He was a riot sometimes.”

“That's not stupid.” Ren leans across a dozying Drury to drunkenly pat Scotty on the shoulder in comfort. “I miss Posd every minute. If that tritanium shit wasn't so toxic, I'd have seriously considered resigning from Fleet and staying. How stupid is that? Giving up everything for a guy I'd known a month?”

“No, I get you. I do.” Scotty nods solemnly, reaching up to touch Ren's hand with his own. “Wanted to suggest that Srash came with us but Doc here 'splained that they can't live without the stuff much as we can't live with it. Either way, love's lethal.”

'Doc here' has finally passed out, his head dropping back to the couch beside me with a snore. I smack Chekov on the arm and _psst!_ at him till he passes the bottle of vodka over. Some Welcome Back party, Bones has been hovering over my shoulder the whole night so far, so I've only managed to sneak a few sips of the real thing in between glasses of the kids' stuff. I take a glug and point the bottle at Scotty. 

“Thanks. 'Love', Mr. Scott?”

“Weel, there's lotsa diff'rent types of love, Jimmy.”

“So you're talking just a physical thing?” I take another heavy swallow worried Bones will wake up soon for round two, but the awareness of Spock has been biting at me all evening, a feeling that his eyes are on me although he's never looking my way when I check, and I need a proper booze buzz to knock it back.

“I wouldnae say that. Meetin' of minds, maybe. Srash did love his machines.”

“Posd liked working out as much as I do. He could bench press _me_.” Ren's eyes get all dopey-looking. “And I'd let him.”

“Scads was happy. All the time, just always cheerful and smiling, excited about everything.” Drury rouses himself long enough to join in. “I've never met anybody like that. Always happy. You'd think it'd be annoying but it wasn't. It was like being back at the Academy.”

“Sorry guys. Wish it could've worked out better for everyone.” I feel humbled, not having realized that an escape from Ping could be anything other than a lucky escape. It reminds me I've got so much to learn about empathizing with others, putting myself in the place of my men rather than charging forwards and onwards all the damn time.

“Ach, s'okay, sir. 'Least we're still breathing, eh? Down to you, and none of us can thank you enough. Here's ta ye, sir.”

“I'm glad to be back, gentlemen. To our health, now that it's ours once more. “

We all knock back a shot, Chekov grabbing the vodka back and tossing it down like was water, his eyes no longer totally focused when he looks my way to return it. 

“How about you, Mr. Spock?” I look at him over Ren's shoulder where he's separated himself from the party a small distance, choosing to sit at my desk rather than sprawl on the floor like Chekov and Scotty. “Missing Sneck and Padnus?”

“Not at this time, Captain.” He's enjoying this, our relaxed, slightly-drunk chatter that's leading wherever it wants to go. I don't know how I know this is fun for him, as he could be in a procedural review right now, sitting as upright and composed as ever, but I know. “May I ask if you yourself have experienced any yearning for your titular spouse?”

“Ooh, that's a toughie.” I tap the neck of the vodka bottle on my chin, acting like I'm having to think about it. “Kind of miss that bathroom. Otherwise, I'll think I'll have to say no.”

“I miss Paznus. I didn't zhink zat I would, but he was kind and listened to me. And it has not been so good, being back here.” Chekov sighs. “All I wanted was to be back home and, now zat I am, it's a mess.”

His voice cracks on the last word, half-laugh, half-groan, blinking back tears as he looks up at the ceiling in my quarters. 

“Yeah? Want to talk about it?”

“Aye, git it off yer chest. S'what we're here for.”

“I don't know.” He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, sniffing like he's embarrassed. “It's personal.”

“You shouldn't have to keep anything from us. Look at what we all went through together. We got married together. Hell, you've seen the Captain in a thong. What's left to hide?”

“Thank you for that, Lieutenant.”

Ren mock-salutes me. “Anytime, sir. What gives?”

“Zere was someone I thought zat . . . a friend.” He rests his face in his hands, pressing the balls of his palms into each eye socket, his words muffled into his sleeves. “I was stupid enough to zhink we were moving towards somezhing, but now I'm back and he doesn't speak to me, or barely. Doesn't look at me.”

“It's early days yet.” I pass him back the booze, figuring he might need it more than me. “Maybe your friend,” _Sulu. It's Sulu. The whole damn ship knows it's Sulu._ “Doesn't know the right thing to say, so he says nothing.”

Chekov makes a frustrated grunt into the bottle as he finishes half-draining it in one swig. “I know zhis. I do.”

“So make the first move and say something to him instead.”

“Like what? I don't know! Ech, it's too complicated.”

“Tell him you need to talk to him. Tell him you miss him.”

“I can't.”

“Sure you can.”

“What's stopping ye?”

Chekov doesn't say anything, staring mutely into his arms as he sniffles and shakes his head. I touch his back lightly to let him know I'm there and that I give a shit, and my mouth opens and speaks without me thinking because I'm there with him, hopeless over someone without a clue of what to do about it. 

“Pride. Fear. Desperation. And that simple, crazy hope that if you leave it long enough without saying a word, you won't have to and that they'll say it for you. The freedom of hope sustains us.”

“I'll drink tae that.”

“You'd drink to anything.”

But we all toss back another shot, Scotty throwing a fatherly arm around Chekov's shoulders. “Cheer up, wee lad. Look at it this way – you'd be dead by now if we'd stayed.”

Ren snorts, an impressive noise that temporarily rouses Drury again. “Remind me not to come to your place next time I'm feeling depressed about something.”

“No, no, see, look, we've got nuthin' to lose. Righ'? It's our second chance. It's our duty to make it work this time, a free shot, y'know? A do-over. Think if you'd died down there and never had the chance to see him again. He'd have been left wondering if you had feelings for him at all, or if it was just in his head. Would ye want that?”

Chekov shakes his head morosely. “No.”

“'Way I see it, someone's given us the chance to put things righ'. And now you're good 'n' steamin' it's the best time.”

“Now? Oh, no. I don't zhink so.”

“Mr. Scott's got a point.” Ren clinks his beer to Scotty's whiskey bottle. “Turn up at his door, declare yourself then pass out on his bed. If he doesn't return your feelings in the morning, you can blame it on the vodka and move on. But if he does, you'll get one helluva hangover cure.”

“I suppose. Keptin? What do you zhink? I should go now?”

Pavel's eyes are huge and trusting, and I shouldn't advise him on personal crap like this when I haven't got a clue what I'm doing myself. But the vodka's warming the pit of my newly-healed belly and I'm tired of it myself, carrying around this constant longing for someone who could be so much more than a friend. 

“What I think is that we owe it to ourselves to be brave enough to take a chance. If I'd died without seeing – ” I stop myself just in time. “If I'd died without loving the way I want to, without being true to myself or those I care for, it would've been a damn shame. I know if I'd never taken a chance at a better life, I'd be rotting in a jail in Iowa somewhere shacked up with a 'husband' a damn sight scarier than Sextus. You shouldn't live life afraid of what might happen if you dare to dream of something better. You can't. But only you know if he's worth taking the risk of getting hurt. Is he?”

A brilliant smile as Chekov sniffs the last of his tears away and nods his head enthusiastically. “Oh yes. Wery much so. He is . . . I have never known anyone like him.”

I don't know what draws my attention to him as he doesn't seem to have moved from his position at my desk chair, his hands folded neatly on the one clear space on my desk, but something makes me look at Spock, and what I find almost makes me drop the vodka bottle into my lap. His eyes are fixed on me, the same intensity that I thought I saw when I woke in Sextus's bed and thought I was dreaming of Spock watching us. He knows. Dammit, he _knows_ , must've picked it up off my skin the night of the public wrestling when I grabbed, just as I suspected. Maybe he knew that I was in love with him before I did. I give him a small, helpless smile of apology and his line of sight drops as he blinks slowly at his hands then looks at me again. If I didn't know better, I'd swear my lungs are struggling again with the air in here. I can't stop looking at Spock, even as Scotty staggers to his feet and pulls Pavel up with him, and Spock doesn't take his eyes from mine.

“If he's that great, what the hell are you doing sittin' in here with us old bastards? Git away w'ye.”

“I think it's time we all got some sleep.” It's almost physically painful to stop looking at him and pay the others some attention. “Thanks for the party, it was just what I needed, but I've got to rest up.”

“Of course, sir.” 

“Nae problemo, sir. Ren 'n' me'll get the doc into his bed.”

“Whu?” Bones half-wakes and squints at me blearily over Ren's ass as he's picked up and manhandled over Ren's shoulder. “Party's over?”

“Think so.”

“Then you gotta eat somethin' before bed. Soak up all that Russian ditchwater. Have some dry toast and some milk. Goddamn sneaky bastard, can't fool me.”

“No, I can't. Never could.” I slap him on the ass and start to wave the men out. “Sleep well, guys. I'll make sure I see you all before I leave. Best of luck, Ensign, I'll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

He blushes and grins, swaying through the door behind Drury. If I hadn't seen him manage it easily before several times in the past, I'd swear that amount of vodka would have him passing out cold halfway to Sulu's quarters.

“Night, Captain.”

“Good night, Ren. Doctor.”

“Good evening, Captain.”

“Not you.” I fix Spock with a stare and wait till the door's closed next to us to say another word. “You and I need to talk.”

“It would not be wise to delay a necessary physical rest period.”

“I slept the whole damn day away, I'm fine. Sit.”

“Do you intend to follow Doctor McCoy's instructions?”

“Jesus, Spock, quit changing the subject and sit down.”

“My apologies. I was not aware we had settled upon a subject for discourse.” But Spock sits anyway, back on the corner of the couchette where he'd been perched this morning. 

“Bullshit. And, while we're at it, that's three lies now. Yeah, I'm keeping a list.”

I get wriggle to get comfy in my chair, my ass and torso bonier than they used to be so I'm less cushioned and am noticing the difference in comfort. I order the temperature in the room up a couple of degrees as I'm getting tired now whatever I tell Spock, and the thin t-shirt and old sweats aren't quite enough to keep me comfortably warm.

“I did not lie when I informed you that I was unable to meet for a chess match this evening.” I smile at how he instantly knows what I'm talking about. “I informed you that I was otherwise engaged.”

“You misled me on purpose.”

“I do not believe that I did.”

“And if I'd asked you exactly what was otherwise engaging you?”

Spock has got to have the greatest poker face in the galaxy. “There is no inherent merit in postulating on the possible outcomes of that which has passed. You did not ask me so it is unlikely that we will ever know what my answer may have been.”

“Man, you're slippy.” I've managed to find a comfortable spot in my chair, my legs folded under me, my hips hiked forward so I'm sitting with my head leaning back against its arm. The perfect position to open my mouth and dive in, no second thoughts. “I missed you.”

The air thickens again, my heart feeling like it's blocking the base of my throat. Spock barely reacts, but his voice is different when he speaks, lower and more hesitant than usual. “Over the past fourteen months of serving as your first officer, and in becoming your friend, I have grown accustomed to your company and so too noted its absence.”

“Flatterer. You know what I want to talk about?”

“Not precisely, no. I understand that it is a personal matter.”

“Yeah, you could say that. You told me before, back on Ping, that you can't always shield yourself from the transfer of, how did you put it?”

“'Urgent matters of emotional conveyance'. I recall the conversation.”

“What have you picked up from me, about what I feel about you? Especially when I grabbed your arm at the wrestling. Tell me straight, no disingenuous scooting around the sides of the matter. I need to know.”

“You are certain this is a matter you wish to discuss openly?”

“I am.”

A nod, no sign that he's at all uncomfortable with talking about this. “Very well. I have been aware for eleven months and seventeen days that you regularly display signs of sexual desire towards my person. Pupil dilation when we are in close proximity, an apparent desire to increase the instances of physical proximity, increased rate of breathing, the unconscious wetting of your lips when you are looking at me directly. Genital tumescence following instances where we have been in prolonged physical contact.”

“Shit. I'm that obvious? Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You did not.” _Vulcans do not experience emotional discomfort,_ I can almost hear it. I don't believe him. “On the incident you referred to, during our first visit to the Great Ring and your confrontation with Sneck, I was left with an impression during our brief contact of your sexual jealously of my Pingian husbands, in addition to an overwhelming concern towards me. It merely confirmed that which I had already observed for myself.”

“Yeah. Thought so.” This is turning out to be more humiliating than I'd expected, and I always thought it was going to be pretty bad. “Again, sorry. What else?”

“Apologies are unnecessary, Jim. I am an adult and so am able to contend with being sexually desired by others.”

“Of course, I mean, look at you. You didn't get anything else? You haven't noticed anything else about my behavior towards you? Has it changed recently?”

The familiar crease appears between his eyebrows. “I have no reason to believe that you have ceased to physically desire me. However . . .”

“'However' . . . ?”

“It is merely supposition on my part.”

“Suppose away.”

Spock's eyes meet mine, full of confusion and uncertainty, his placid demeanor beginning to crack. “I stress that my opinions on this subject are non-objective. But when the former Sen was attempting to asphyxiate me, you offered to exchange your life for mine. Earlier this morning within these quarters, you exhibited signs of an anger with me that I sensed originated in an unspoken issue other than simply the question of my withholding information from you.”

“You should trust your instincts, they're as smart as the rest of you.” _Come on, Spock, get there. Tell me you know. Make this easier._ “Anything else?” 

“Your words to Ensign Chekov this evening.”

“Go on.”

“I must explain that you were – _are_ not alone in your desire, which is returned.”

“I'm not? It is?” This is news to me. Big news. Couldn't be bigger.

“It is, but I have no intention of entering a purely sexual relationship.”

I'm kind of flailing in my chair, my arms not quite strong enough to push me up as fast as I'd like, trying to untangle my legs, my pulse jumping in excitement. “Why the hell not? If you're experiencing half the, uh, erotic energy that I am, things could get wild between us. We're well-matched and we already know we get along. Most of the time.”

“As I move further into maturity, I find myself drawn to the Vulcan ideal of a fully-bonded partnership of equals, someone whose mind I would come to know as well as my own. A permanent joining of selves as opposed to a temporary sexual liaison. I did not think you capable of such a level of commitment.”

“Oh.” 

Ain't that a kick in the nuts? My semi wilts as I watch him stare at the floor in front of his boots. I'm trembling, too much at risk here, too much to say and no way of saying it now I know he thinks I'm too flighty to bother with. But he must pick up on the disappointment in my tone, the one I tried to hide, because he looks up at me again, his eyes softening in that way they have with me that I've never seen him do with anyone else.

“I should have made it more apparent that I had not _previously_ thought you would ever seek that manner of joining. But you offered your life for my own, and this evening spoke of wishing to love the way you want to and of dreaming of something better for yourself than that which has gone before. It has made me question my judgment in the matter.”

“Spock.”

“Yes, Jim?”

“It's what I want.”

A pause. “Please specify what precisely it is that you want.”

“All of that, everything you just said. Equals, bonding, the whole shebang.” Everything in me warms. My dick, my body, my face where I feel a tide of heat swamping my cheeks. My chest, which fills with overwhelming emotion in a sweeping river I can't hold back. “I'm in love with you. I'm not sure I could deal with a purely sexual relationship, either. I'm not saying I wouldn't be willing to try but, honestly? It would never be enough. I want _you._ All of you, all of it.”

He nods solemnly and I laugh, filled up with a heady energy now I've actually said it out loud. “A nod? That's it?”

“Do you recognize what it is that I am asking for?”

“I think I do. A forever thing. You and me versus the galaxy.” He eyebrows me sarcastically and I laugh again, “Am I wrong?”

“A curiously belligerent choice of description but, yes, Jim.” The smallest hint of a heartbreaking smile. “A forever thing.”

“Then that's what I want, if you do. With me, I mean. You haven't indicated that you're interested in me like that.”

“If you are certain that you understand the form of relationship you are agreeing to, then I am. I have spoken of bonding before to a person who said they understood when it later became apparent that they did not.”

“Uhura?” He nods again, his mouth pinched, and I tamp down a fierce stab of jealousy. “I'm sorry.”

“The end of my relationship with Nyota was a positive move for us both, as we were not as well-matched as we had first believed. Whereas I have known you long enough now to be certain . . .”

“Say it. Please, just quit torturing me and say it already.”

Then he looks at me and he doesn't need to say it, all of it blazing out of his expressive eyes. “That I love you, and want you, and will never stop. That I hold you in higher esteem than all others, that your intellectual and moral qualities are as appealing as your physical attributes, and that I would be at your side until death claims us both, and beyond.”

Holy shit. I think my heart actually stopped for a beat or two there. “You're way too far away. Get over here. Right now.”

Spock takes a considered look at where I'm sitting. “That chair is designed for sole occupancy. This couch is not.”

“I'm still weak.”

“Which would indicate a need for light physical activity.”

“I'm the captain.”

“You are currently on inactive duty due to authorized medical leave.”

“Fuck. You know, I'm just realizing this means I'm never going to get to win petty fights. Sudden second thoughts . . .”

But I push myself up from out the chair, my legs wobbly as a newborn lamb, my cock already starting to tent out my old sweatpants. I've felt more attractive in my life and never cared less. Before I take two steps towards the couchette, Spock's standing and moving towards me, my breath catching as I realize that nothing this significant will ever happen to me again. This is the one, my last first kiss. His long, dry fingers take mine, lifting my hand with his as he stands close enough that his boots meet my bare toes. 

“Then I will aim to always meet you at the center, thus negating the need for 'petty fights' in the first instance.”

I can't stop smiling, his fingers sliding through mine as we lock eyes and drink each other in, free to do so openly. “You planning to kiss me anytime soon? Or are you the coy sort who likes to have the moves laid on him?”

“I am kissing you.” He lifts my hand higher, both of us looking at our laced fingers as his continue to delicately caress mine. “This is how Vulcan bondmates express affection. It is somewhat audacious of me to initiate such a gesture prior to our bonding taking place.”

“You big slut.”

“Indeed.”

There's a light dancing in his eyes, his mouth inches from mine as I reach up with my other hand to brush over his cheekbone, his lower eyelashes soft as the finest fur against my thumb. I've never wanted anyone more, never adored every breath out of someone's body like I do with him. Nobody's ever come close. I curl my fingers around his neck, the texture of his hair as silken as I've ever imagined, and I press my mouth against his.

Damn, I'm in trouble. Just a simple closed-mouth kiss and I'm lost, his lips a perfect mix of softness and strength, my kiss returned with a calibrated precision that makes my mouth go dry and my dick harden to the point where it's starting to nudge at the waistband of my shorts. I close my eyes and open my mouth to trace between his lips with my tongue, and his pushes back against mine, rougher and drier, a tangible difference that shoots a jet of heat through my nuts, up my spine, sending my asshole into a frantic clench as his tongue licks around my top lip and I imagine how those harsher papillae would feel if it ever decided to make a trip butt-wards. 

I grunt into his mouth thinking about it and his arms go around me to hold me tight into that whipcord body of his. He's almost holding me up, my legs giving way as I cling to him, fingers tight in his hair as I suck at his rough tongue and rub against his thigh, desperate already for more friction. I'm too hungry for the sharp metallic tang of his mouth, Spock's hands molding the small of my back and I grunt again, totally approving as they slide down further to cup my asscheeks and hold me against him so firmly that I can feel him now, a long, rock-hard protrusion at my stomach. 

“Bed.”

I'm panting into his mouth, our noses rubbing before we kiss again, Spock taking the lead this time as he tugs me back into him and thrusts into my mouth, a shudder running through him as I slide my tongue over his. Then I bite at his bottom lip, that pouty fucker that's been torturing me for months, sucking it into my mouth as he shivers again and hikes his hips against mine. 

“I mean it. Bed.”

His forehead's against mine, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts and his eyes heavy and unfocused. “You need to sleep.”

“I'll sleep the sleep of kings once we're done.”

“Jim, your physical recovery is important to me, as it should be to you.”

“We don't have to swing from the light fittings. Nothing too energetic, but stay. I need this.” I stroke his neck with my thumb, over his Adam's apple then down, catching on the neck of his shirts as I slide my hand flat over his taut chest and stomach to press against his erection. He closes his eyes and his breath stutters as I rub at him gently. “We'll take it easy tonight, I promise.”

“Then allow me to assist with conserving your remaining strength for where it may best be applied.”

I hoot in surprised laughter as he sweeps me up into his arms. “Fuck! Forget it, I feel stupid. Down.”

“You are sure?” He nuzzles into my ear following it with a stroke of that tongue, his breath sending quivers of arousal down my neck which he follows with his mouth as he begins to carry me towards the bed. 

“No, not sure. Ooh. Okay, yeah, I'm good with this. Just this once.”

If it were me carrying someone like this, blindly as I kissed them deep and strode towards the bed, I'd trip over something and dump them into a book shelf or something. Not Spock, his footsteps sure and steady as his tongue curls around mine, his arms cradling me against him with ease until we get to my mussed-up bed. The bed in which I've spent plenty of dark nights imagining him throwing me down into with a feral growl and pinning me there, but tonight he's considerate, easing me down softly as his mouth finds mine again. When I eventually pull away I'm standing between his legs, my ass supported by the bed as I press against him, trailing my lips along the sharp angle of his jaw.

“I'm not going to break apart. Don't feel you have to take it too easy.”

He tilts his head into my caresses, humming with a pleased, thrumming sound as I suck on his earlobe, his hands lifting the bottom of my t-shirt to slide across the skin of my back. “We will have the chance for more vigorous love-making once you are fully recuperated. I will attend to you tonight.”

“No. Everything you do, I also get to do. A partnership of equals, remember?”

“Jim . . .” The glide of Spock's fingers over my naked skin is making it tough to concentrate on anything he's saying. “You so often refuse to accommodate your own frailties where you would accept them without question in others. If you will not mind your own needs, then the responsibility to do so falls on those of us who care for you. You will rest. You will recover, and you will return to me whole.”

“Talk about your unilateral decisions.” I can't stop touching him, tugging at his hips as he pulls the t-shirt up over my head, his hair brushing my neck as he bends to kiss there and along to my shoulder. “Don't go getting too used to me doing what I'm told.”

“Pursuing a course of action I recognize as futile would be illogical.” His thumbs brush over my nipples as sharp teeth nip at the skin of my shoulder and I gasp, starting to tug at his shirts. 

“I compromised on who gets to do what. Does that mean I can get you to speed things up?”

Spock's mouth pauses on me, his thumbs stopping their circular motion over my chest. “I was led to believe that humans value a lengthy period of sexual foreplay.”

Hah. Score one for Uhura. 

“Some of us do and, at the right time, it can be awesome, but I'm more of a 'jump on the pony and ride it' type of guy.” I rut against him, groaning as the tip of my dick pushes past my waistband, the extra friction and Spock's breath on my skin driving me crazy. “I want to see all of you, I've wanted it so long that a minute more's too much.”

“One minute?” 

_Lead by example_ , something Admiral Pike's always reminding me. Not sure he had this in mind, but I push my shorts and sweats down, kicking them off and grinning at the way Spock's cheeks delicately flush, his eyes narrowing as he looks at my dick, which makes it jump upwards wanting his touch. “And not a second longer. Come on. I'm waiting.”

I push the rumpled covers back and recline on my bed, propping my head on one hand to watch as Spock efficiently strips out of first his Science blues, folding the shirt neatly and laying it on the top of my nightstand. 

“Tick tock, Mr. Spock.”

“I have forty three point six seconds remaining.” He perches on the end of the bed and I rub over his back with my foot, him glancing at me under his armpit as he leans down to tug off his boots and socks one by one, lining them up beneath us in no apparent rush. “Thirty two point three seconds.”

“I'm digging the countdown. It's like you're a bomb waiting to go off.” He tugs off his undershirt and my throat constricts as all that fine chest hair's revealed, my cock beginning to drool against my stomach. “A really sexy bomb.”

“Twenty eight seconds precisely.” 

He stands to open his pants, pushing his way out of them gracefully with none of the hurried fluster there would've been had it been me. They're folded and placed on top of the growing pile on my nightstand as I tongue at the corner of my lips, noticing how his shorts are clinging to his long dick, an impressive wet patch already forming on the fabric at its tip. I don't give a fuck what he says, I need to have him in my mouth tonight. There are some things that can't wait till morning and that's one of them.

“I am in possession of a full sixteen seconds with which to remove my underwear.” He's beyond hot, tall, lean, lightly-muscled and furred to perfection, as breathtaking as he was soaking wet and climbing out of my bathing pool. “Do you wish me to expedite the matter or utilize my full allotment?”

“Come here. Let me.”

There's always that one moment when you feel someone against you skin to skin for the first time. I lean back and take him with me, Spock lowering himself over me, his legs sliding between mine as we start to kiss again, his dry skin moving over mine, his chest hair a hundred small caresses forcing a low, guttural groan out of my mouth and into his as my eyes roll back in my head. Then a similar, answering grumble rises out of his throat and it hits me, that with this much contact going on he must be picking up how turned on I am by him. I slide my hands down his back and into his shorts, cupping his asscheeks and pulling him tight against my cock to leave him in no doubt.

His ass was built for me, fitting into my hands perfectly as I knead his buttcheeks, the one soft part of anatomy on him. I dig my fingers in and suck at his throat as Spock somehow realizes how sensitive my ears are, tracing its whorls with the tip of his tongue before gently biting around its rim. Or maybe he's just got as much of a hard-on for my ears as I do for his, and I shove his shorts down, taking them the rest of the way with my foot and kicking them to the end of the bed so I've got my hands free for everything I want to touch on him.

I run my fingertips along the curved points of his ears, earning me a tilt of his head into it and a muffled purr against my neck. Down over his broad, strong shoulders to his chest, pushing at him until he raises up enough for me to start rubbing my nose in his fuzz as I comb through it with my fingers. 

“God, Spock, you're so fucking beautiful.”

He catches my eye with a half-smile, his mouth quirking, his eyes alight. “A term that has never been applied to me before, to my knowledge.”

“Oh, trust me, it has. Maybe not to your face, which is a damn shame. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.” 

“No.” He bites at my ear, his lips causing shocks to tingle outwards and into every part of me. “You have looked into a mirror in your lifetime. What you have seen there is beyond comparison.”

Nerve endings are singing all over my body wherever he's touching me, his cock slick and heavy against mine as we fuck against each other slowly, a grind that's fast making me mindless. I kiss him again, hungry for his flavor as I pinch at his nipples, Spock gasping into my mouth and pulling away to start to kiss at my neck, working down over my collarbones, my chest, that rough tongue rasping over one of mine heavily. 

“This is a friendly warning – I'm already close. Don't take your time.”

“Very well.”

A kiss at my other nipple, then his hands push me firmly back to the bed as he hikes an eyebrow at me, licks his lips, then moves down to trace a long line down my belly towards my groin, his shining hair flopping forward over my fingers as I reach to stroke through it. Then he gets level with my dick and I close my eyes waiting for the first touch of his mouth on me. It doesn't immediately arrive.

“Fascinating.”

“ . . . Huh?”

I open my eyes just as he touches one curious finger to my nutsack, stroking through the hairs and over the wrinkled skin. 

“I was, of course, aware of the sexual characteristics of human males, but I have never observed them at such close quarters.”

He's not kidding. “This is not the time to satisfy your scientific curiosity.”

“One moment, please.” 

He leans in and then I feel it, my legs dropping apart further as I feel the harsh touch of his tongue drawing circles over my balls, which draw up tight as I moan and let my head fall back to the pillow.

“Damn, that feels good.”

“Interesting. The pheromonal component of your sweat is notably stronger here.”

“I swear to God, Spock – Ohh, okay.” 

His mouth closes over one of my nuts, sucking softly as my dick twitches and flexes across my stomach. I reach down to start jerking off, getting needy now, but he brushes my hand away and wraps his strong fingers tightly around me, jacking my dick slowly as he continues to suck and lick at my balls until I'm squirming underneath him, my toes curling as I edge closer to an orgasm that's going to wipe me out.

“Fuck, that's, Jesus, I'm so close, Spock, I'm going to come, you're making me . . . I'm coming, I'm, fuck, no, please . . . ”

I whine in annoyance as his mouth leaves my skin again, but then his tongue's rasping at my slit, his lips fastening around me and I look down once at his dark head moving over my cock before my climax hits me hard, my ass clenching and my body arching off the bed into his mouth as I curse, grunt and come in his mouth so hard I see stars. He starts to suck, his warm purr starting up once more as I unload into his throat and curse harder, louder, that vibrating hum coaxing another hot spurt out of my pulsating dick. 

“Damn. _Daaamn_.” 

A liquid glow pours into my body, my muscles melting into the bed. Spock laps at me heavily once more making me shiver then presses a soft kiss at the tip before moving up to lie next to me, his hand stroking over my chest. My arm muscles feel all fuzzy as I reach up to touch his cheek, thumbing over his cheekbone as his eyes look down into mine, afterglow and love making me feel drunk as I give him a woozy smile. 

“For someone new to personal, hands-on experience of the human male's sexual characteristics, I've got to say you displayed an innate, not to say, impressive understanding of their workings.”

He nuzzles into my ear, so much more tactile than I'd ever hoped or expected. “The ability to attain knowledge and the application of that knowledge in practice is paramount to the Vulcan self.”

“Just when I think I couldn't be more in love with you . . .”

I tug him down into a deep kiss, sighing at the taste of my cum on his tongue, turning into his body to wrap an arm around him and stroke my fingers up and down his back. It's lazy and slow, all of my urgency swallowed neatly by Spock, but he shudders and moans a little into my mouth when I trace a circle over his asscheek then allow my fingers to dip into his buttcrack, trailing through a fine, peachy fuzz there as his tongue thrusts into my mouth harder. Oh yeah. He's not done yet.

“How about me making my own scientific study?”

He keeps rubbing his face over mine, into my neck, trailing his nose over my skin and behind my ear. “You are not too fatigued?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

I reach down between us to thread my fingers through his bush, as soft and silken as the gleaming black threads tickling my neck as he breathes into my ear and makes me shiver in pleasure. “On how long you're likely to take. The spirit is willing but the flesh is definitely weak . . .”

A huff of amusement sends the same crackle of awareness down my neck. “If you are capable of sustaining a few minutes' activity –”

“I'm on it. Lay back and allow me to work my magic.”

Spock shifts into the middle of the bed, looking up at me with no hint of self-consciousness as I push myself up with a groan, straddle his legs and stroke down over his chest with both hands. 

“If I'd had any idea you looked like this under your uniform, I'd have gotten myself kidnapped and poisoned a fuck of a lot sooner.”

“An unusual method of courtship.”

I lean down to kiss his hipbones one by one, rubbing my nose into his lighty-furred, tight gut before licking into his belly button. 

“So long as it worked.”

“It did.” 

There's a smile in his voice as his fingers stroke through my hair, his legs shifting wider beneath me as I move down further, inhaling his clean scent, a hint of musk to it that makes my mouth start to water. Then I take his cock in my hand, admiring the faint green flush on the pale skin, how hard he is, how wet, a clear fluid weeping freely from a piss slit that's the same as mine. But he's bigger than me, the head of his dick heavier with a pronounced flare, the ridge of his glans echoed in ripples of hard flesh below and he gasps, thrusting upwards with his hips as I trace them with my tongue. It's been awhile since I've tackled anything this big but I open my lips wide to suck him into my mouth.

“Yes, oh, yes, Jim.” 

His fingers tighten in my hair then release as I suckle deeper, wanting more of his taste, which is pure and strangely sweet, none of the intense salt I'd expect with this amount of pre-cum. It's pouring out of him now as he hikes his hips towards my mouth, fucking deeper into me as I fight to let him in. I grab the base of his cock so I can work my hand on him, too, stroking down with my other through his soft fuzz, grunting in surprise when I find nothing there but the start of a furry taint. 

“My testes are located elsewhere.”

“Where?” It comes out more like _Whuh_ , muffled as it is around his cock.

“A subject for another day's study.”

“Aww. Mmhm.”

I'm getting into a rhythm now, pumping my head on him as I twist my hand towards my mouth, stroking down further between his cheeks with my finger. No balls to play with, I've only got one other place to aim for, pushing Spock's thigh further away as I find and rub over a tight asshole that clenches hard, his cock twitching against my tongue.

“Ohh!”

Wow, I made Spock shout. It makes me grin around his dick and suck harder, screwing my fingertip into his tight hole that suddenly pushes out and relaxes, enabling me to sink in up to my knuckle. He's moaning now, his legs shaking under my arms, his fingers furiously clutching at my head as he fucks into my mouth harder and faster, and without warning he goes rigid under me, the tip of his dick swelling before his cum hits the back of my throat. It's thick, thicker than mine but less of it, one then two heavy globs as a sweet, delicately spiced flavor fills my mouth. He's delicious and I suck hard wanting more, milking him into my mouth as his asshole spasms around my knuckle.

But he's not going soft, still thrusting gently into my mouth as if he wants more. I start to experimentally finger-fuck him, the different taste of his pre-cum mixing now with his cum as he groans and pushes back onto my hand. Guess we're not done yet. I'm tiring now, working my hand more than my mouth as I jack him off and lap at the tip of his dick, finding which areas make him clutch at my head and gasp. Once I've discovered it's at the base of his glans where he's most sensitive, I start to suck there, rubbing him with my lips and the flat surfaces of my teeth as he hisses and grows bigger in my hand. I'm ready for it this time as his body tightens once more, his asshole a tight ring of steel around my thrusting finger as he moans a last time and shoots another thick mass of cum against my lips.

“Enough, thank you.” He's barely out of breath, his fingers tenderly stroking back my hair where it's too long and falling into my eyes. Bastard. I'd be a sweating mess if I'd come twice, but he's looking at me in perfect serenity as I lick his cum off my lips and smile up at him. 

“Good?”

“I am currently unable to recall appropriate superlatives so, yes, I will settle for 'good', but it does not come close.”

Looks like I managed to fry his circuits after all. My limbs are too heavy as I haul myself up to lie next to him again, playing with his chest hair as I kiss him, rub my nose against his then collapse onto my back, his arm under my neck.

“I think I'm ready to sleep for a week. Are you going to stay?”

“Would you like me to?”

“That's not answering my question but, yeah, I would.” 

Another first. I like a post-coital snuggle as much as the next person but have always preferred to sleep alone, sprawling like a starfish over every available inch of space. 

“Then I will stay.”

“Mm. Good.” It takes up the last of my remaining energy reserves to turn into him, throwing an arm over his hip and rubbing my face into his chest. “I love you.”

“As I love you.”

It seems unbelievable after so long that this is real, but I can feel it from him, love in the relaxed caress of his fingers and the dry kiss pressed against my forehead. I yawn and order the lights off as Spock reaches over me to draw the covers over us both. I've never felt so cocooned, so completely sated, or so totally happy. I'm smiling as I breathe him in and allow a drugged sleep to sweep over me like warm velvet.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put James T. Kirk in therapy. I'm not sure what this says about me

“Jim? I've lost you again.”

“I'm sorry. What were we talking about?”

“Strength. You were describing what strength means to you, what different types of strength you think there are, which are most important in your mind, then you said 'Spock's strong in more ways than I can count' and zoned out.”

“I guess my mind's not on this today.”

“Hmm. Okay.” Jeff keys a note onto his PADD.

“What?” I sound irritated because those little _Hmm_ s started to piss me off two weeks back, ten minutes into our first session.

“Do you think it's interesting that you lose focus every time you talk about Spock?”

“Trust me, if you'd ever met Spock you'd understand.”

Jeff picks up three different mugs from his coffee table before he finds his most recent. “I had Professor Spock for second year Xenocultural Studies. He is memorable, I'll give him that.” 

“Yeah. He is.”

The familiar ache starts up again and I close my eyes, thinking of his last words to me the morning I left and how he stared at me as if storing every physical detail within that terrifying brain of his as I traced his eyebrows and whispered his name. Then I blink and come back to the room in a rush as Jeff snaps his fingers in front of my eyes.

“Come on, Jim, we're here to work.”

“Fuck.” I rub my face with both hands and sit further upright in my chair. “I didn't get to speak to him last night, again. Didn't sleep much either. This has got to be frustrating for you, counseling someone so freshly head over heels in love that they can't keep their mind on the subject of their own trauma.”

“Whatever's frustrating to me or not is my business, but no, I take anything that challenges my clinical skills as a positive learning experience. How about we go over the specific challenges you've identified that you faced on Ping, and expand more on which demanded more of you as a captain, and as an individual.”

“Again? Do we have to?”

“Of course not, no.” Another note on his PADD. I feel like grabbing it and busting it open over his carroty head. 

“Okay.” I bite at my top lip, looking at him as he looks back at me with an air of calm expectancy, waiting for me to say something. “What? I don't know what I'm supposed to talk about if we're not talking about Ping.”

“Would you like to talk about Spock?”

“I think we've already confirmed that my mind tends to wander when I'm talking about Spock.”

“Uhuh. And why do you think that is?”

“Because I had four nights of the greatest sex of my life with someone who feels like they're a part of me, but now I'm sitting here talking to you? Why the hell do you think!”

I get up out of my chair so fast it falls over with a thump, and I cross Jeff's small office to glare out the window, hoping watching the clouds hanging low and rolling lazily across a teal sky to the far horizon will calm me down. I always watch the skies when I'm home. They're maybe the one thing I miss about this place. There's an intense silence coming from Jeff's direction, waiting, watching me. He never reacts no matter how explosively my anger blows up. 

“Sorry.” More silence. “And, yeah, I know I don't have to apologize, but I was brought up to say sorry when you shout at someone.”

I can hear him going through the same, now-familiar coffee mug ritual then taking another slurp as he patiently sits and waits for me to speak. It reminds me that I've been meaning to pick up a self-heating mug for him as a leaving gift once he signs me off. If that's ever going to happen. I turn back to him, giving him a conciliatory smile.

“Should we talk about my mother?”

“I don't know. Should we?”

I grit my teeth and somehow manage not to start smacking my head against the window pane. “You're the expert.”

“Not in the subject of what's contributing to your continued distress. Not until you let me know.”

“Then why do you keep asking about Spock?”

Another note, then he crosses his legs and leans back in his chair. “Why do you think I keep asking about Spock?”

“Please, for the love of all that's good in the universe, stop doing that.”

“You want me to stop doing my job?”

“If your job is to piss me off, then yeah, I do.”

“You're a smart guy, Jim. Smarter than me. Why would I keep turning your questions back at you?”

I screw my eyes closed, my hands making fists against my thighs as I breathe out and try not to imagine his face if I threw the coffee table at him. 

“Because I'm unconsciously asking you the questions I need to answer. But that's such bullshit.”

He shrugs, and I eye the coffee table, trying to figure out how heavy it is. “Maybe it is.”

“I haven't asked you anything about Spock.”

“No, but you have to admit he's been a recurrent theme in our sessions so far, either as a distraction from moving any deeper into what's going on in your head or as a primary participant in your description to me of what happened on Ping.”

“He's a recurrent theme because it's new. And big, important to me. More important than anything.”

“So why wouldn't you want to discuss him?”

“Who's said anything about me not wanting to discuss Spock?”

“Then why don't you sit down and we'll talk about him. Get away from the subject of Ping.”

I throw myself back into my chair, slumping down and stretching my legs out in front of me. “Fine. What do you want to know about Spock?” I already know what he's going to say, so say it for him. “'Well, Jim, what would you like me to know about Spock?'”

He nods approvingly, slurping his coffee and looking down at his notes on his PADD.

“Spock is as different to me than anyone I've ever met. We're night and day. You know they say opposites attract? There's got to be a limit to that, though.”

“What would you say your similarities are?”

“Ooh, fuck.” I pick at a hangnail while I think about it. “We're both Command. We both work too hard, and have high expectations of those around us. We both push ourselves, physically and mentally. We both play chess. We're a similar age, although Vulcans age differently to us so I don't know how meaningful that is.”

“Anything else?”

“We both like to be in control.” 

Shit. Where did that come from? The air in here's stagnant all of a sudden, panic rising in my throat for absolutely no reason at all. “I mean, he's Vulcan, so of course, he's, uh, he keeps himself tightly controlled, but I'm, I don't know, it's my job to keep control of the situation where possible and I've always been drawn to the lead, but I wouldn't say I'm _controlling_ exactly . . .”

I trail off, aware I'm babbling and beginning to sweat, the looming darkness of the mine's canyon clinging and tugging at the soles of my feet as I scramble to pull myself back up. Jeff puts the PADD down on the coffee table and looks at me, no sign of concern.

“How would you say your desire to be in control manifests itself?”

I swallow and force myself to calm, not wanting him to see me gasping for breath. “I thought we were talking about Spock.”

“We can talk about Spock if you'd prefer.”

“Yeah. I would.” 

I think about Spock's hands, his fingers pushing deep inside me that last night as I rocked my hips back and came. How his eyes never changed in expression the whole time, looking down at me with an intense possessiveness that I recognize now as how he looked at me in that bed with Sextus plastered naked to my back. I think about his face, so composed on our comm-chat our first night apart, all business and polite query until I asked if maybe we both should naked and do stuff together, and how awkward it was when we did, so much of ourselves lost in distance.

“Jim? You in there?”

“I did it again?”

Jeff nods, his gray eyes serious over the top of the PADD as he re-crosses his legs the other way and sighs. “You did, just as we were getting somewhere. Funny how that keeps happening.”

~*~

It doesn't seem to make sense how sitting on your ass in a room with a stranger for day after day is so tiring, but it is and I fought sleep every single cab ride back to the Fleet apartment I'm staying in until I figured out that the walk would actually wake me up. It's no more than three miles, an hour if I take my time and stop for a coffee, although the Academy sits halfway between Jeff's office and my apartment so the coffee shops along the way are crammed with a new year's intake, who all seem to recognize me and want to hear all about what Nero was like. The one time I thought it'd be nice to stroll across the campus itself for the hell of it ended up with me being swamped by a group of attractive co-eds all wanting to buy me a beer or several. Six months ago it would've been heaven, this one brunette in particular.

But I wanted to get back to Spock, to talk to him and hear about what had happened on-board that day, if I'd missed anything, to rant about Jeff and how much I wanted to twist his stupid little head right off his shoulders. I'd told Bones about Spock and me my third day back on the Enterprise after Ping, and Bones had _Hah!_ 'd briefly before saying that Spock and I have been acting like we're married for the last eight months. 

He could have a point. I look at a flower stall along Fillmore and think about which blooms remind me most of him, and whether or not the lilies I pick out for my place would match his personal taste, which I suspect might head more for one of the orange-red, heavily scented spice geraniums nodding at me from out their pots. I finger at a flower on one of them, noticing how each blossom's made up of five perfectly heart-shaped petals before laughing at myself and moving on with my lilies tucked under my arm. It'd make my mom's year if she knew I was noticing heart-shaped petals and thinking about my sweetheart. 

There's a message from her once I get in, her cheek smudged with flour when she says she's making me noodle soup for the weekend, just how I used to like it. I always preferred it when she was too busy with work and used dehydrated noodles like everyone else. I throw my lilies in the cup of water on the table I was too lazy to clear away this morning, stroking along the curved edge of one of the waxy green-white blooms before shrugging out of my jacket and tossing it over one of the chairs at the dining table. 

Then I'm left wondering what the hell I'm going to do with myself this evening. At least Starfleet accommodates visiting captains in comfort, and it's been good to catch up with Admiral Pike outside of a work context, but I'm so damn bored I'm ready to do something stupid, truck hopping like when I was a kid, maybe. Then the viewscreen starts to beep at me and I'm temporarily saved from having to entertain myself.

“Oh, it's you. Hey, Bones.”

_“Don't sound too overjoyed that it's me and not Loverboy.”_

“You checking up on me again?”

He raises a glass of something that looks illegal. _“Just settling in for the night, thought I'd say hi. Did you strangle Jeff yet?”_

“Came close a few times. I can't put my finger on what it is that's making me need to punch his lights out so bad but, man, he's an annoying little fuck.”

 _“You're damn right.”_ He sips his drink, frowning at it with a cough as he swallows. _“That's precisely why I picked him out for you. Remembered him from the year below us, a brilliant clinician but the sort of personality you could drive under people's fingernails as a method of torture. Thing is, Jimbo – ”_

“You're only calling me that because you're too many light years away right now for me to kick your ass.”

_“– Thing is, you're too smart for the other psych-techs. You smile at them and flutter your pretty eyelashes and tell them everything they need to hear, and they sign you off fit for duty. You don't need that this time. You need someone who's able to get underneath all that easy going bullshit you've got everybody else convinced with.”_

I hold up my hands in surrender. “I'm not disagreeing with you.”

 _“Sure you are, you're just not saying it out loud.”_ Another cat-who-got-the-cream smile around his glass before he takes another drink and coughs again. _“I know you, and I know what you're carrying around with you. Get it untangled before it blows up in all our faces, you hear me?”_

“I will have my revenge. I'll make sure of it. Next mission, I'm planning to catch something you've never even heard of.”

He puts down the glass after another sip and pushes it away with a grimace. _“Doubtful. We stopped at a trading post two days back for a restock of comestibles, and the anti-viral serum dealt with all kinds of local bugs. Think it's time to hand it over to Fleet Medical so they can expand the trials.”_

“Yeah?” I grin huge. “Bones! That's excellent news. You named it yet?”

_“Yep, but for some reason the team's not happy with McCoy's Marvelous Cure-All. Ingrates, every last one of them.”_

“Another confirmation of your 'forever doomed to be surrounded by idiots' theory.”

_“That stopped being a theory the day I met you.”_

“Heh, I guess. So . . . You seen much of Spock?”

He raises an eyebrow at how totally pathetic it comes out, even though I'm aiming for breezy nonchalance. _“You withering without the light of his presence?”_

“Cut that out, and no. Just haven't heard from him in a couple of days.”

_“Yeah. Your pointy-eared bastard asked me to let you know he's otherwise engaged. There's been a problem with anti-grav buffers in the fore decks and he's been assisting with a re-fit round the clock.”_

“'Fore decks'? Are the labs affected?” There's way too many explosive compounds in there to risk them floating around and into each other.

_“Exactly the problem. Don't get all antsy about it, everything's strapped down and, far as I'm aware, Scotty's expecting the new buffers to solve the issue. We're fine, Jim.”_

“Guess so. Y'know, you could at least pretend to be struggling to cope without me.”

_“Well, it's not the same without you here. I think the hobgoblin's missing you. He's gone into some sort of hyper-efficiency drive and has gotten every department walking on eggshells in case he decides to show up with a checklist and start picking holes in their operation. The buffers failing has been a godsend. Everyone'll be pleased to get you back so they can return to slacking off.”_

I grin, aware he's kidding. I've created something of my own reputation for surprise spot-checks, and I kind of like the idea of Spock missing me and getting up everyone's ass because of it. “Glad to hear it. I'll let you get back to whatever that is you're drinking. Do I want to know?”

_“Probably best if you don't. A little something I found at the trading post. I might even save you some if you're unlucky.”_

“Give Spock a big wet kiss from me next time you bump into him.”

He closes his eyes and shudders. _“Thanks in advance for my nightmares this evening. 'Night, Jim.”_

“Take it easy, Bones.”

I lean back in the chair, tucking my hands behind my head and wondering what I'm going to do with the rest of the night now I know Spock's still busy. Pike had invited me to a Fleet social tonight but rumors of what happened on Ping are already circulating, Starfleet's grapevine working at full strength, with two of my neighbors in this block alone already stopping me in the communal areas to lend me a sympathetic ear. Not sure I could manage a roomful of them. Maybe I'll hit the gym again, order a pizza later.

But the tub calls once more, one of the bonuses of being on Earth, and I've spent at least an hour of every day here so far floating in scalding hot water and trying to not feel like it's unhealthy to miss this. I strip off as I go, still uncomfortable with clothing, relaxing the second I'm stripped to my shorts.

~*~

“Spock is not a problem! Spock is great. He's . . . God, he's perfect.”

Jeff gives me a patient, pacifying smile that makes me want to smack it off his face. “I don't recall suggesting otherwise.”

“Then why do you keep asking if I have a buttload of issues with him?”

“I haven't asked you that once.”

“Not in so many words, but you keep bugging me about him. I'm not here for you to poke your nose into my relationship.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Spock is a big part of your life, Jim, you've said it yourself a hundred times in the past weeks. If I'm not permitted to so much as speak his name –”

“I didn't say that. You're putting words in my mouth.”

Jeff takes up his PADD again, his eyes looking into mine steadily. 

“If you discourage me from asking about certain areas of your day-to-day existence, it indicates to me there may be an issue there you're not dealing with. I'm not criticizing your mate or your relationship. I'm attempting to encourage you to think about how your trauma on Ping is connected with Spock, because everything you've told me about it, you've related it back to him. Your concern over him, your concern over his reaction to the problems you were encountering, the matter of your rescue . . . each and every time, it comes back to Spock. I can't ignore that, and perhaps you shouldn't, either. Or the fact that you become defensive whenever I approach the subject.”

“I guess.” I sit back down from where I'd started pacing. “Sorry.”

“Can you tell me about why you feel attacked whenever I want to talk about the dynamics of your relationship with Spock?”

“It's new, and I'm protective of it.”

“That's fair.”

“And I wanted it for so long without even realizing. Maybe it's significant I figured it all out when I was on Ping, I don't know.”

Silence. I slump down and stare at the air vents in the ceiling. “I find this easier when you ask me stuff.”

More silence. “Why should there be a connection between how I feel about Spock, and Ping? I've felt this way about him for months. Too stupid to figure it out, but I didn't fall in love with Spock just because he came to rescue me. I'm not that pitiful.”

“Why would that make you pitiful?”

“ _That's_ what you comment on?” I comb through my hair and sit forward, hands hanging off my knees. “Because that'd be pretty lame, wouldn't it. Spock saves the day and I swoon at his feet? I'm not that person.”

“Then what person are you?”

“For a start, I'm usually the one doing the saving.” I see Jeff smile out of the corner of my eye, and watch him make a note on his PADD. “Oh, come on, it's not that simple.”

“If you say so.”

“You're really beginning to piss me off, you know that?”

The smile widens. “All part of the service.”

~*~

His face flickers into place on the small viewscreen this bedroom's got, a few inches high, and I can tell within microseconds that Spock's exhausted and have to physically restrain myself from trying to climb through the screen at him.

“Finally! What's been going on, you look like death warmed over. Did you fix the buffers? Anything explode first? And you tell Mr. Scott that, next time there's an emergency, he needs to make sure that all crew members get adequate rest. You included, acting captain or not. That's an order.”

_“Good evening, Jim.”_

“And don't give me that 'I don't need sleep because I'm better than the rest of you' bullshit.”

_“I intend to meditate then complete a full rest period once our conversation is complete.”_

“Good.” I wipe over my face and smile at him. “Hi.”

_“Hello.”_

“Everything fixed up?”

_“The new anti-gravitational buffers have been installed and are in full working order.”_

“Good. Great.” 

I keep looking at him, unable to stop smiling at how handsome he is, wanting to rub over the shadows under his eyes and kiss away any lingering tiredness. He seems content enough to sit there and be looked at, neither of us speaking a word for a minute or so as we drink each other in. But then it starts to feel weird and I have to say something, even though I know enough to understand that silence is never a problem as far as he's concerned.

“I miss you.”

_“My time has been fully occupied since we have last spoken, but you are never far from my thoughts.”_

“You're so mushy.”

_“Is that a complimentary term?”_

“Not exactly. You're cute, too.”

Spock gives me an uncertain look and I laugh and lie back, getting comfortable on the bed with my arms tucked behind my head. “You are. No getting away from it, sorry.”

But he's not looking at my face, and I glance down to notice my t-shirt's ridden up and he's staring at my bare stomach. “Checking out the merchandize?”

_“Your weight has increased.”_

I tug my shirt up higher and rub over my gut. “Not bad, eh? My butt's getting back to normal, too, courtesy of about a million leg lifts and a cheese-ham croissant every morning. Wanna look?”

He blinks. _“You wish to further experiment with shared sexual activity?”_

“No, I thought you might like to see how my ass is returning to its former glory.” I roll over and tug my shorts down enough to bare half a cheek so I can give it a slap. “You'll be able to get your teeth into this bad boy in just over a week.”

_“If you insist.”_

His voice has dropped into that low purr, and arousal seeps into me, my cock beginning to throb against the bed. “I do insist. You know, I'm not opposed to further experimentation with shared sexual activity this evening. Are you too tired? You look too tired.”

It's an instant return to that same awkwardness as before, Spock's expression going blank as he retreats internally. _“No, I am not, but, as I have explained to you, I am not well-practiced in self-gratification techniques.”_

“Trust me, I've had more than enough practice for the both of us. But, yeah, I know. Don't sweat it.”

He eyebrows at me, probably just because he knows it'll make me chuckle. _“I do not sweat.”_

“What do you want about instead? I don't want to talk about the sessions. Please don't ask me to talk about the sessions, I've been talking about nothing but that bullshit for days.”

_“Remove your clothing.”_

“But I thought you didn't want to –”

_“Indulge me. Remove your clothing.”_

Hot damn. “Is that an order, Acting Captain?”

_“It is.”_

I grin and hump against the bed where I'm getting fully hard, reaching over my shoulders to grab my shirt and pull it off, throwing it to the floor next to the bed. “Like this?”

_“Turn onto your back and remove your underwear.”_

“Oh, fuck. Yes, sir.” I roll back to lie flat, pushing my shorts down, my dick slapping against my belly hard as it springs out from the waistband. Soon as I've kicked the shorts off I let my knees fall open, stroking down over my chest with both hands. “Like what you see?”

I know he does, I can tell from the heat in his eyes and how his mouth's dropped open by the smallest fraction. _“You will address me by rank.”_

My throat makes a strangled noise that doesn't qualify as speech. “Shit. You're going to kill me with this. Yes, Captain, sir.”

_“Very good. Wet your forefingers and your thumbs with saliva.”_

“Okay.” I look at him while I do it, running my tongue around the pad of my forefinger, remembering how his dick hardened against my thigh the first time I did this to him. Then my thumb, my other hand, watching him watch me. “You want me to suck them?”

_“What I want is for you to convince me that you are able to follow a simple set of instructions without further qualification.”_

My ass clenches hard at the tone of his voice and I hiss, closing my eyes as a fresh wave of arousal sweeps up my spine. “Understood, Captain.”

_“Pinch your nipples.”_

Oh, god _damn_. Spock's missed his vocation, his voice cool and deep with a precise hint of command in it that is perfect for this. “Yes, sir.”

_“Again. Harder.”_

I wince, my nuts feeling full and heavy, my stomach wet with pre-cum as my dick twitches and leaks each time I pinch. 

_“Your position is less than optimal. Turn towards me, with your feet closest to the viewscreen.”_

“Like this?”

He looks at me all spread out in front of him, hard dick drooling over my belly, balls drawn up tight, my legs wide, keeps looking with his hot, intense eyes as I keep fingering my nipples. 

_“It is an improvement. Place your hands flat on your chest. Stroke them down towards your groin and imagine that they are my own as you reach between your legs to cup your scrotum.”_

I moan as I do it, closing my eyes again to imagine Spock's hands moving over my skin, his fingers sliding through my pubic hair as his thumbs stroke over my nuts.

_“Describe the sensations to me.”_

“It feels so good. My balls are so sensitive,” I stroke underneath, grazing my taint with a blunt fingernail. “It makes my dick ache when you touch me like this.” 

_“Draw your fingernails up along your inner thighs.”_

His voice is husked, almost a growl, and I do it, raking my nails up as I spread my legs. It sends shivers of heat up into my nuts and ass and I moan, beginning to pant.

_“Again.”_

“Please.” It's breathy, a deep itch building in the tip of my dick that I can't deny much longer. “Fuck, Spock, please touch me.”

_“Convince me.”_

I'm mindlessly stroking my thighs, fucking my hips up into the air needing more, a touch, anything. “Stroke my cock, please, I need to come, grab my dick and jack me off fast.”

_“No. I will not.”_

I stroke up, sliding my hands over my hot skin, my pubes damp with sweat as I get as close to touching my dick as I think I can get away with. “But I need it, I need to shoot, I'm aching so bad.”

_“Take your penis in your right hand and stroke yourself for me, slowly, root to glans, five times only.”_

“Fuck yes, sir.” 

My hand is shaking as I wrap it tight around my cock for a first squeeze, groaning and arching against the bed as I do. I slide it up, rubbing my thumb over my slit with another hiss as I force myself to slowly move back down. “One.”

_“Very good. Continue.”_

I do it again, the contact not enough, not fast or hard enough as I squeeze tighter and let out a shuddering groan, my cock leaking over my knuckles as I stroke back down, not pausing before repeating the action. “Two. Th-three. Four.”

One more time and I'm never going to be able to let go, my asshole clenching, the itch of my growing climax throbbing angrily at the tip of my dick and all the way down into my nuts. “Five.”

_“Remove your hand from your shaft.”_

“I can't. Don't make me.”

_“I do not wish to repeat myself.”_

I do it with a grunt of frustration, clenching my teeth as I glare at him angrily on the viewscreen. “I need to come, Captain. Enough playing around.”

Spock's cheeks are flushed delicately, his eyes narrowed and feral-looking , the tip of his tongue poking out to touch the corner of his mouth as he stares at my dick. I'm panting for breath, the covers on the bed too rough against my skin, the air in here stuffy and heavy with the scent of the pre-cum smeared across my stomach. Then he looks directly into my eyes and the want there is as unhidden and uncontrolled as his anger was that one day when he held me down and started to choke the life out of me.

“If you were here, would you fuck me now?” We haven't done that yet, Spock aggravatingly insistent over the four days we had that my physical recovery had to be prioritized above sexual activity. I pull one knee up with my arm, reaching down with the other hand to rub over my asshole. “Would you pull me onto your cock and bang my brains out?”

 _“Yes.”_ A definite growl, his teeth white behind his curled top lip. _“Push your forefinger into your anus, then you may proceed to masturbate to orgasm.”_

I push in too hard, in a hurry, a dull pain burning around my ass and down my thighs as I spit in my hand and reach down to jerk off. 

_“Open your eyes and look into mine.”_

It's coming on me fast, faster now as I look at him and moan his name, cursing, every muscle on my body tensing as I push into my asshole deeper, the ache helping my climax build as I jack off fast and messy. “Spock, I'm close, I'm so fucking close.”

_“Then come for me. Now.”_

It hits me and I start to shoot so hard that it splatters over my open, gasping mouth, my chin and neck, my body shaking with the strength of it as I curse and cry out. I can't stop coming, milking more and more out of my dick as my asshole spasms around my finger. Then it starts to move on, flowing into the rest of me as my aching muscles begin to relax, the frantic clenching of my ass slowing down as I jack my cock a few more times, lungs fighting for enough breath. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Holy fuck. Ugh.” I start laughing as I reach up to wipe my chin and neck, licking my cum off my lips. “Look at this. You made a mess of me.”

_“My apologies.”_

“Where the hell did you learn that from? Or should I ask who?”

He tilts his head, the corner of his lips curving upwards as his eyes lengthen, Spock's smile, the one that makes my heart go into freefall. _“I improvised.”_

“Nice job, 'Captain'.”

_“It achieved the desired result.”_

“I'll say.” I grab my shirt off the floor and start wiping myself down, none of the awkwardness now of last time, even though it's hitting me now that he's not here to kiss or or nuzzle on or press back into the bed so I can reciprocate. “You don't need to . . . ?”

 _“I am not physically aroused.”_ His eyebrows draw together, not quite a frown. _“However, I believe it may take me some time to settle my mind to the point where I am able to enter a meditative state.”_

“It'd help if you tried out some self-gratification techniques first. You just got a practical demonstration from a lifelong enthusiast.” 

_“Perhaps on our next call. You appear to be fatigued.”_

“Mmm, yeah.” I stretch my legs out, everything warm and relaxed, muscles popping and fizzing with the last few aftershocks. “Think I'll nap for awhile before I go eat.”

I flop over onto my belly, scooting over towards the viewscreen to get comfortable, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it under my head. “Doesn't it make you pissed, that there's likely to be a bunch of times when work's going to separate us?”

_“The majority of our time will be spent together, both in a professional and a domestic sense. Does that concern you?”_

“What, that we'll get to be together close to every minute of the day? Hell, no. Looking forward to it. Does it bother you?”

_“It does not. Furthermore, during times of physical separation, our bond will enable us to remain aware of the other. Once bonded, we will never be completely separate from one another, no matter the distance involved.”_

“Don't start thinking I'm getting cold feet here. And don't say a damn thing about the temperature of my extremities, which are fine. I want this.”

_“There are other matters that we must discuss prior to completing our bond, whether we choose to do so ceremoniously or privately.”_

“We can do it privately? We don't have to have, like, a big Vulcan party thing? Me in a dress?”

_“You may wear a dress for our bonding if it will make the experience more pleasing to you.”_

“No, I'm serious. We can do it just us two?”

 _“I believe so.”_ He's going into professor mode, I can feel it, folding his hands into each other and concentrating on them. I want to muss his hair. I was outraged to discover he's not ticklish. He's like a fresh white wall and I'm a kid with a marker.

 _“My mind is powerfully drawn to yours, to a much greater extent than those of other individuals. It is why I avoided your touch beyond the care I would habitually take, in past days. It is not that my telepathic shields are unable to protect me from your thoughts, but more that I am attracted to them, much as a negative charge pulls towards a positive. I have had to remain vigilant in order to not allow my mind to open itself fully to yours at every contact. It is why I found the choice of my older counterpart to meld with you so hastily,”_ He purses his lips in subtle disapproval. _“A questionable act of judgment.”_

“It's cute when you get all jealous.”

_“Vulcans are possessive of their bondmates. At times, to the point of violence.”_

“Violence?” It makes me sit up. “What, you're going to go all caveman and beat the crap out of anyone who looks at me? Because we both know that's unacceptable.”

His throat moves as he swallows, his eyes remaining focused on his hands. 

_“It is the prime matter of Vulcan physiology that we will need to discuss. I am customarily able to control my more possessory instincts and it should not be a matter for your concern.”_

“However . . . ?” 

_“The Vulcan drive to procreate operates on a cyclical system.”_

“Okay.”

 _“It is not something we discuss openly and, due to my hybrid nature and resultant sterility, I hope it is something that I may be spared. That_ we _may be spared.”_

“You're sterile?” 

_“Yes, I am.”_

“Oh. Okay. We've not talked about kids but I'm not in any hurry.” No hurry at all. Seriously. God. “Are you?”

His eyes lose focus as he considers it internally. _“I am not.”_

“Great.” This has got to be the most involved post-orgasmic conversation I've ever had, and I'm fighting a yawn, covering it with the back of my hand. “So. The Vulcan procreatory drive. How long was your mom bonded to your dad, Spock?”

His frown deepens. _“My parents' marriage may not be an accurate indicator of how we might choose to address the issue of my time, should it come, as there were several options of external assistance available to them if required. It is not a subject I discussed with my mother, nor with my father.”_

His tone implies that he never intends to and that I can't make him. “Which of these external options would be open to us, if necessary?”

_“I am uncertain what facilities have been established at the new colony.”_

“Spock, come on, you know what I'm saying. You've shown me those holos of your mom. You think there's anything of a physical nature she could've dealt with that I couldn't? Because I'm about five seconds from getting offended if you do.”

_“It is important that you are fully aware of the consequences of bonding yourself to a Vulcan mate. If I were to hurt you, or worse, injure you beyond possible recovery –”_

“Listen up.” I wish I could touch him so he'd know for sure I mean every word. “I can take whatever you throw at me. You're not going to worm your way out of this that easily, especially now you've told me I don't have to bond with you in some big, stupid ceremonial thing. Which I'd do, if I had to, because I'm in love with you and would toboggan down Qomolangma naked if I had to.”

_“That will not be required.”_

“Good. Well, Mr. Spock, now that you've harshed my afterglow, I'm going to go soak in the tub then drink several beers and eat a bunch of crap Bones wouldn't approve of. You going to be okay?”

He inclines his head, so elegant, so entirely graceful. _“Our conversation has given me much to meditate on, and I believe will assist me in doing so.”_

“Glad to hear it.” I don't want to say goodbye. I'd keep him on all night if I could, but he's tired, his face paler than usual. “You look after yourself. Get some sleep.”

_“I will. Rest well, t'hy'la.”_

The screen flickers out, a news bulletin I was looking at before scrolling across. I stare at it dumbly for a second with no idea what he just called me. Whatever it was, I liked it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More therapy.

“You'll be okay. I know it.”

“I _am_ okay, thanks.”

Mom looks at me, then shrugs. “Eh. Could be better.”

I kick at her chair, sending her rocking again as she throws back her head and laughs. It's become out ritual at weekends, sitting on the porch watching the sun go down, a cold beer each while I bitch about Jeff and she bitches about work. Tonight's sunset is unspectacular, the skies too clear tonight with only a faint haze of pink outlining the trees at the far horizon, the air cooler now Fall's setting in. 

“So much for unconditional love.”

“Oh, Jimmy.” She strokes my arm, picking at the rolled sleeve of my shirt. “There's no such thing.”

“Jesus, Mom. And people wonder why I'm in therapy.”

“You think your love for your Spock's unconditional?”

“I do, and he's not 'my Spock' like he's my dog or something.”

“I know, but what am I supposed to call him? Your boyfriend, your fiance, what?”

“Fucked if I know.” I throw back a mouthful of suds. 

“More importantly, am I going to get lots of little pointy-eared grandbabies to play with soon?”

“No.”

“Aw.”

“Nu-uh. Not happening.”

“You're a disappointment to your mother.”

“I guess that's Monday's session taken care of.”

She pushes herself out of her chair, coming over to wrap her arms around me from behind, her chin propped on top of my head. “Need another beer? I'm heading that way.”

“I'm good, thanks.” 

Her hands pluck at my hair, twirling it this way and that, and I tolerate it, wanting to shake her off. 

“You will be okay. I know it's taking longer than you expected, but you always land on your feet.”

“Yeah.” I close my eyes as Mom runs her fingernails across my scalp. “I do, don't I.”

~*~

“No. Back off, I mean it.”

“Jim . . .”

“Nobody talks about my father that way. I won't hear it from my mother, so I'm certainly not going to take it off some psych-tech who only graduated last year.”

“From the Academy, not from med school. I'm not insulting your father, Jim. Consider his position –”

“'Powerless'? Sure as shit sounded like an insult to me.” I'm leaning against the wall with my hands balled in fists, shaking with the effort it's taking not to lash out at Jeff, who's a head shorter than me and about ninety pounds soaking wet. He's fallen silent once more, letting me calm as I turn back towards him and fold my arms. “George Kirk saved the lives of more people than you or I meet in a year. He took control of the situation. That's not powerless.”

“Of course he saved lives, hundreds of them, including yours.” Jeff looks at me for a moment like he's deciding whether or not saying this next thing is likely to get him a busted nose. “By accepting the situation for what it was, and accepting his inability to prevent certain outcomes. One could argue that his was primarily an act of essential passivity. Would you have made the same decision if you were him?”

 _No._ It's something I've asked myself a million times, and I know what Jeff's prodding me towards. “It's impossible to say.”

“Why did you take the Kobayashi Maru more than once?”

“It made me pissed that they thought they had this unbeatable test. I wanted to prove them wrong.”

“To what end?”

“To show them that nothing's unbeatable and that it's arrogant to think otherwise.”

“You think it's arrogant to believe that there are unbeatable scenarios.” He says it flat, like a statement, and I have to admit it sounds stupid.

“No. I don't know. Maybe. It's a matter of lateral thought. There's nothing you can't think your way around, change the rules of engagement.”

“So what do you think would've happened if you'd taken an exclusively passive path through the occurrences on Ping?”

“He wasn't passive, you need to stop saying that, and I'd have died. The whole away team, Spock, me . . .”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I'm sure! You're not listening to me. You weren't there. You need to – know what? I'm done here. That's it, I'm done, enough of this shit.” I grab my jacket off the back of my chair, Jeff looking up at me as I jab my arms into each sleeve. “Take my starship, take whatever, I'm through. I'm not spending the rest of my life in this room with you calling my father powerless, and we're no closer to you signing me off than we were a month back. We're getting nowhere. So, I'm done.”

“Jim. Sit down.”

“Go fuck yourself. You weren't on Ping. I couldn't just sit there on my ass waiting to die.”

“Ask yourself why you're getting so antagonistic with me now. We've been here six weeks, why are you walking out right this minute? Why now?”

“Because – ” I blow out a breath, my hands shaking so I push them into the pockets of my jeans. “Because . . . I don't know. Alright? I don't know why.” 

“I honestly believe that you do.”

“Because I don't like you calling my father passive, or powerless or whatever. I'm supposed to sit here and take whatever you dish out? What the hell kind of therapy is that?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

I sigh and roll my head around to work out the tension in my shoulders. “Sure.”

“Spock is powerless sometimes. Vulnerable, even weak. I can promise you that. I am weak, vulnerable and powerless, sometimes. Your father was. Sextus was, even when convinced of his own invincibility. Everybody you know is. Everybody you will ever know.”

“No. Spock's not –”

“Sure he is, and he'd tell you that himself.”

“But it's different for me. My position, I mean, a captain can't afford to be weak.” My nose burns inside as I say it.

“Sit down, please.” I clench my jaw and do it, staring at the lines on the palms of my hands, turning them over to look at my knuckles, Jeff's voice almost calming in its nasal drone. “Sometimes it's positive to refuse to accept your own limitations, but there's a point where it becomes unhealthy. When are you going to stop pushing, Jim?”

“What?” I look up, the burn at the back of my nose growing as my eyes begin to smart. “Pushing what?”

“You should read your file sometime. Over and over again, you've placed yourself by choice outside whatever boundaries are available to you and seen how far you can take it. It's not a refusal to play by someone else's rules, or righteous indignation when someone thinks they have an unbeatable test, and it's not anger with me. What is it?”

“I don't know.”

“I think you do.”

“I don't. Fuck, quit poking at me. If I say I don't, I don't.” I can't sit for this, moving over to watch the rain run down the window, thick gray clouds hanging heavy and low over the city. It's suffocating, the sky trying to force us back to the ground and out of its dominion. 

“I'm not trying to beat my father.”

Silence, a cloud burst a few blocks over heading this way.

“I'm not afraid of being imperfect.”

Silence. The clouds are the same color as tritanium and my breath catches before I can reassure myself that it's simply water vapor. 

“I'm scared.”

Silence. Not even a slurp of coffee this time to distract me.

“Not to die. I'm not afraid to die. My grandmother died when I was a kid and everyone cried, and I didn't understand why, because going to sleep and not waking up didn't seem like a bad thing. Mom got so mad at me.”

The cloud burst arrives, hitting the window pane hard with a rattle of rain. And the burn in my nose builds, my eyes filling up and up until I blink and a teardrop bounces off my cheek and down to soak a dark patch in the front of my shirt. 

“What are you scared of, Jim?”

I don't want to say it. “That you're right.”

~*~

“Man, I needed this. Some time spent kicking ass always does me good.” I sit back and stretch out my hands, smirking as Admiral Pike frowns at the my queen and both knights on the upper levels of the board then glares at me.

“Yeah. Real relaxing. How about you quit looming over me like some diseased vulture and start engaging?”

“Just getting you where I need you to be.”

“No shit.” He glares at my queen some more before shifting his rook into the start of a basic river maneuver that's going to hand me the central board and his king in three moves. “I remember when this used to be fun.”

“You should play Spock some time.”

Pike grimaces and grabs his glass. “I have. That's about when it quit being anything other than an humiliating set of tiny defeats. Step by step until the bitter end. Spock's brutal.”

“Sure is. It's so hot.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

I sacrifice a pawn to his bishop. “There. Another one to add to your collection.”

“I hope you don't play so fast and loose with my crew.”

“I like to call it 'chumming the waters'.” He picks off the pawn, and I look over the board for a minute like I don't know exactly what I'm going to do. “Hmm. What now? You've got me on the run, Admiral.”

“Pfh. No I don't.”

I check him with a bishop. “Yeah, maybe not.”

“Dammit. Anyone ever told you you're a sneaky little bastard, Captain?”

Something tells me he'd grow to like Bones if they ever got the opportunity to socialize. “Fleet's finest tactical training in action, Admiral. When in doubt, hide behind the nearest rock then jump out and blast everything in sight.”

“I don't remember that being on the curriculum.”

“Maybe not in your day. Did you guys even have phasers back then, or did you just throw rocks at each other?” 

Checkmate, my queen swooping down to corner Pike's king. He scowls and knocks it over.

“Thanks for making that look tougher than I suspect it was. And 'rocks'? I should promote you for that right now, just for the hell of it. Stick you behind a desk somewhere.”

“What's it like?” I watch his face for a reaction, wondering if I'm going too far. “If that's not too personal a question.”

“What, being a desk jockey?” I nod, rolling a sip of the malt around my mouth as he sits back in his chair with a sigh. “I suppose I'm getting used to it. Still don't like anything that takes me up to space dock – it makes me want to jump out of this piece of crap,” He punches one of the arms of his chair lightly. “And go hijack a ship. Shoot out into the stars. But it's good being a part of the bigger picture, deciding who goes where, moving our pieces into position. Sure makes me wish my chess skills were better.”

“Why did I get given Ping?” This must be the fifth time we've hung out in the last six weeks, and it's the first time I've asked. “Why was it a priority?”

“I can't tell you much, Jim, you know that.”

I shrug. “So tell me what you can. Did Command know about the uprising before it happened?”

“No.” Pike starts to place the chess pieces back into starting positions. “We'd never have sent you in without that information. A major source of tritanium allied to the Federation was bait enough. You may not realize this, but you came through for us – the new regime's expressed an interest in membership. Apparently Captain Jim's something of a Pingian legend now.”

“Oh, well, that makes everything better.” It's bitter, the malt fumes turning sour in my throat as I tilt my glass in my hand, watching how the light refraction changes the whiskey from brown to gold and back again.

“Look, Jim, I – ”

“No, it's good.” I smile, noticing that it doesn't make him look any less concerned. “We all lived, and it helped me figure things out faster with Spock. It's better to concentrate on whatever positive came out of it.”

“Your therapist tell you that?”

“Nope.” I knock back my drink and turn the board so I'm white this time. Maybe I'll let him win one. “Came up with that all by myself.”

~*~

He's staring at me. I can feel it like a weight, a patch of heat against the side of my face as I pick at my fingernails and don't talk. Trying not to count the minutes passing. Jeff breaks first.

“I can see it there.”

“I'm sure you can.”

“Then say it. What's stopping you?”

“Soon as I say it, it's real.”

“It's real now, Jim. It's why we're here.”

“I know!” I close my eyes and breathe out slow, a little unsteady. “I know.”

“I'll dare you to say it, if that'll make it easier.”

I laugh and wipe over my nose with the back of my hand. “That's freaky. You know me far too well already.”

“That's why they gave me a window.” Jeff leans forward like he's letting me in on some huge secret. “If I was sucky at this job, I'd be stuffed in an equipment locker in the basement with the rest of the noobs. If I don't get you back on your ship soon, they might take my window away. So you need to get it out.”

“To save your window?” He nods several times in a row, like it's a matter of life or death. “Well, that's certainly raised the stakes.”

“Know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I do.” I scratch over my head with both hands, screwing my eyes shut. They're just words. Nothing's too big to say aloud. I told Spock I was in love with him and that has to be bigger than this. But then I hear myself say it and start to worry that it's not, that this is insurmountable. 

“I screwed up on Ping. If I'd quit pushing so hard, I'd have listened to my men and, in all likelihood, we've have learned about the revolution sooner. By pushing Sextus too far I gave him ten days without me as a distraction, and just delayed everything longer. I was too scared to let any of us give in. I couldn't do it. Even if it meant I had to die, it'd be on my own terms and it was the one piece of control I had left. I had to fight. I don't think I know how to quit fighting.”

“Hmm. Okay, fighting what?”

“Weakness. Frailty, vulnerability, whatever you want to call it. I hate that there's beings out there stronger than me, and how completely the Pingians could take control. I hate that there's unbeatable scenarios. If I'd been in my father's position, I'd have wanted to go out fighting and got myself blow to space dust, and not saved a soul. Spock's stronger than me and I can't stop wanting to beat him, at chess, at wrestling, at work, in everything we do where I resent that he's more powerful. I want to better the person I'm in love with, how fucked up is that?”

He watches me some more and my thumb starts to bleed as I tear a strip of dried skin from next to the nail. 

“I don't know if I can stop. Maybe I shouldn't be captain of a starship. I put people in danger because I refused to admit that I can't win. Worse, I'm proud of it. Even as I'm saying it to you, part of me's thinking it's not a bad thing.”

“Good. That's good.” 

“It's not good. It's terrifying.”

“It's good you recognize that part of you values your competitive nature. Self-insight is always valuable.” 

“I guess.”

I don't sound sure. I hear him place the PADD down on the coffee table, the slither of his pants as he crosses his legs. 

“Okay, Jim. Know what?”

“What?”

“I think we're done.”

“We're finishing early today? Great. Fuck, you're exhausting.”

“No, Jim.” I look at Jeff and he's smiling big, proudly, proud of _me_. “I think we're done with our sessions.”

 _“What?_ No. No, I'm not ready. Didn't you hear that? I've figured out what's wrong with me and just got through telling you that I'm proud of my own goddamn fatal flaw.”

“But you've accepted the concept of your own limitations and understand that you need to take them seriously.”

“So what? I knew I wasn't perfect before but it didn't stop me fucking up on Ping.”

Jeff shrugs like it's no big deal. 

“I don't think you fucked up on Ping. Nobody thinks that. You were in an untenable situation, you could say an unbeatable one, where anyone would've had extreme difficultly dealing from a command position. Ping was your Kobayashi Maru. It was the one that counted, a test that's going to help you build on your considerable strengths as a captain.”

“But I – ” This can't be right. “That doesn't help me know what the fuck to do next.”

“You'll figure it out, you don't need me for that.”

“I do!” He scoffs, picking up his PADD and holding it out to me to sign for the day's session. I wave him away. “No, I mean, I know I've not been the easiest guy to work with, but how am I supposed to deal with being unable to accept vulnerability? You need to tell me how. You.” The panic feels different this time, more naked, tumbling through the air like Jeff's teaching me to swim by throwing me off the Golden Gate. “Please. Do your job. Fix this. Fix me.”

He spreads his hands helplessly, then holds out the PADD once more. “It's not my job to fix you, you're not broken. It's my job to point you towards the correct path. I can't walk it for you.”

I can't believe this. “I don't believe this. This is bullshit.”

He laughs and gets up, physically placing the PADD into my hands. “Listen, I'm not going to recommend you fit for active duty for another ten days. I want you to go somewhere and relax. Find a beach. Go on a fishing trip. Climb a mountain, whatever you want. Trust yourself and let yourself find the way. I'm at the end of a comm-line if you need to talk.”

“Seriously? You're going to rip my guts out then recommend I go _fishing?_ ” I sign the PADD and give it back. “You don't deserve a window.”

He steps away as I stand, holding out a hand for me to shake. “Finding your feet again is all part of the process and I'm certain you'll manage it fine. It's been a pleasure working with you, Captain.”

“Liar.”

“No, I mean it. Leonard said you'd be fun.”

I shake his hand, surprised at the strength of his grip. Wonderful, now everyone seems stronger than me. “Know what, Doctor? If this has been your idea of fun, you're more in need of therapy than I am.”

~*~

I can't remember when I got so dependent on other people. I always used to like being by myself as a kid, nobody else around to try to force into place in the adventures running through my head. Even when I was older, I had friends but nobody I'd rely on and absolutely nobody I'd seek out on purpose. Hell, in a small town like Riverside, you spend half your time ducking your head into your shoulder and hoping to avoid the guy across the street, who you recognize from school as your first mutual jerk-off that time at junior prom, the one who's now married to your mom's manicurist's cousin, who's that girl you dated for a month in high school. So solitude is at a premium in places like back home and I'm surprised to figure out I'm lonely as hell. 

I've been back home seven days, Mom leaving on a three month rotation after two of them, and I'm about ready to start talking to the wallpaper. The quiet here pushes in at me, especially when the wind drops down and there's nothing out there but insects and air for miles. The skies are too big after a year of looking through viewscreens and I get vertigo lying on my back staring up at them from the back yard, the ground beneath me spinning too fast, gravity pulling me tight into it like a fairground ride where the floor drops away leaving you pinned as you whirl around and around. I think about the ship and my crew almost constantly. I miss all of them. I miss _him_ so much it's a physical weight in the center of my chest. I keep the news feed on all day just to hear voices, accustomed now to the constant low hum of a starship, the chatter of an efficient crew, the day to day buzzes, clicks and chirps of my beautiful bird's workings.

So I run, building up my muscles until I'm dropping. I climb up onto the roof at night with a bottle and look out across the fields, trying to accept that the worst thing isn't death, that it'll be next time a mission gets out of my control and that this fear I've acknowledged now might paralyze me completely. Action is easier. I've never thought of myself as a guy who takes the easy route but it's so clear now that it's what I've been doing all along, pushing forward because it's so much less demanding than doing what Spock does, stepping back to observe and understand every last detail of a situation before deciding on the logical course of action. I'm a charging bull operating on instinct alone, he's the matador standing absolutely motionless before he whips the cloak away and drives a sword between my shoulders. Day five and I've convinced myself I did the wrong thing, that he should be Captain. So I get drunk, fall off the roof, and bust up my ankle.

“Know what, Captain Kirk? You're pathetic. It's probably a passing trans-haul.” 

Talking to myself. I don't think that's a sign of progress. I wince, pulling my foot down from the porch's rail and putting down my coffee so I can get up, limping over to look out over the road. All it takes is the distant hum of an approaching vehicle and I'm like a kid at Christmas, hoping Santa's going to bring me someone to talk to so I can get out of my head for awhile. A glint of sunlight catches my eye up above, a reflection off a white aircab that's circling down out of the sky, heading in this direction. Thank fuck, it's got to be someone coming here and I'm so relieved a potential distraction's coming that I start grinning, dusting off my shirt and turning to check that I'm not wearing the jeans that I ripped the ass half out of when I fell. 

The cab settles out in the road and I realize I'm holding my breath as the door opens, not wanting to hope. Then the sun burns brightly against gleaming black hair and I'm running, jumping off the porch and staggering with a curse when my ankle protests. I'm shouting his name, yelling it at the top of my lungs as I limp fast as I can up the lane to the road. Damn him, I know he can run, I've seen him eat up the miles with those long legs like he was out taking a Sunday stroll, but he turns from the cab then stands there, watching me stumbling towards him like a raving lunatic. But my ankle's not done knitting yet and I have to stop at the gate post, aware that fucking it up any worse over a matter of a hundred meters would be stupid.

“Spock! Dammit, I bust my ankle out, get over here.” Still he doesn't run, his black robe whisked by the wind as he starts to stride towards me, his eyes steady on mine and I'm smiling, my heart too full, my dick throbbing almost as bad as my foot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Spock, walk any slower and you'll start going backwards.”

“An inaccurate statement. Even factoring in the potential quantity of conjugate variables, it is highly improbable that the linear momentum of my movement towards you will be negated to the point of polarization without an external event of equal or greater energy.” 

I grin, his voice flowing through me and filling my veins. “And given the magnetic potential between two bodies operating in nth-dimensional coordinate space . . .”

He's twenty meters away. I can't breathe or see anything other than him, his face so totally serious. “Indeed.”

I start to limp towards him again, unable to simply wait and let him take his damn time getting to me. Guess I've still got some way to go on accepting the concept of passivity. It surprises the fuck out of me when I don't throw myself on him, though, instead holding out my hand, two fingers extended. His eyes darken as he repeats the gesture and slides his against mine.

“Jim.”

“You came.”

“So it would appear.”

“Sarcastic bastard.”

I'm laughing as I grab the front of his robe and tug him towards me, reaching up to stroke over his hair, trailing my fingers down one pointed ear before I cup the nape of his neck to pull him into a kiss, a mouth and lips and tongue one this time as we press against each other tight. I was wrong all those weeks back, it wasn't my last first kiss because this feels like another one all over again, his mouth new and familiar, his taste something I worried I'd forgotten. His rough tongue moves against mine as his hands move down my back to palm my ass and pull me harder against him. I groan and mutter that I missed him against his mouth, and he breaks the kiss, rubbing his forehead against mine, his nose tracing around the curve of my ear, his words a rough whisper.

_'Parted from me, and never parted.'_

I tilt my head back to look at him, his eyes lacking their usual intense focus, his cheekbones flushed dark. He looks broken, composure gone, as full of confusion as he was on the transporter pad reaching out towards a mother who wasn't there.

“What is it?” I stroke his jaw, thumbing across his open mouth. “What's wrong?”

His fingers wrap around mine as he takes both my hands, holding them at his sides, his heartbeat thudding against my wrist. His hands are trembling in mine, his fingers tightening as he closes his eyes.

“I have found it increasingly difficult to meditate and order my thoughts in your absence and now, with the stimulation of your touch, the need to complete our bond has become a physical compulsion that I cannot deny much longer. My controls are weakened. It is imperative that I leave if you no longer wish to commit to our intimate relationship to such a degree.” His hands are on the edge of bruising mine, my skin aching. “However I am uncertain I presently have the strength to remove myself from your person.”

“Open your eyes. Look at me.” His eyelashes flutter almost an inch long against his skin before he complies, and I'd sooner cut my throat than hurt him any longer or allow him a second's more uncertainty. “Nothing's changed. I'm yours, it's simple as that.”

His eyes close again and I'm swamped, unyielding arms wrapping around me as Spock pulls me tight against him to the point where I can barely breathe. Who needs oxygen? He says my name like it's some ancient incantation and I weave my hands beneath the folds of his robe, annoyed to discover he's got pants on underneath it.

“Let's do it. Right now.”

His grip on me loosens as he looks around us, frowning at the old gatepost that's still leaning at a drunken angle from where I hit it with Mom's beater truck the first time she let me stay home alone as a kid. “You wish to bond with me here?”

I squeeze his butt with both hands, digging my fingers in, a rumble of pleasure vibrating through his chest. “I don't know where's best. This may come as a shock to you but I'm not exactly an expert on the Vulcan bonding process.”

“A claim I cannot make myself.” He noses into my neck and I can feel him sniffing at me, taking in long breaths against my skin, his lips soft beneath my earlobe. “But I do not anticipate any difficultly in completing the process.” 

“You think there's any merit in my idea of doing it naked?”

He kisses me. In our few days together I was almost solely the initiator, seeking out his mouth at every opportunity, but his tongue meets mine before he draws away, the suggestion of a smile lifting his lips up at one corner, his hands on me no longer trembling. “I do. Allow me to assist you into the house.”

“I'm good. It's about healed. Lead the way, I like to watch you walk.”

“Jim.”

I guess it starts now. His head's tilted, an eyebrow suggesting that it's time to begin accepting my limitations. “Okay, yeah. But you're not carrying me this time.”

“I could suggest that it is a Vulcan ritual linked to the bonding process.”

I lean on him, allowing him to turn us towards the house. My ankle's pissed at me and that leg gives out as I lean on him harder. “Huh. Is it?”

“There is nothing to prevent it becoming so today.”

“You have a point.” I hold up my arms. “Very well, Mr. Spock. Sweep me off my feet. But this is the last time, understand?”

~*~

I don't know how he could think I'd ever stop wanting this. We're lying wrapped around each other on my childhood bed, his bangs mussed and I sweep them back with a fingertip before running it along the upward streak of his eyebrow, his hands moving slowly over my back, his dick lying heavy and hard alongside mine. There's no pressure, no urgency to move forwards at too fast a rate, and it was the same as we undressed each other in between slow kisses as dust motes danced in the blades of late afternoon sunlight shifting through the boughs of the apple tree outside my window. I can't speak, only look and touch, his lips a gentle contrast with the rasp of his tongue as he trails his mouth over my shoulder. Then he closes his eyes and lays his cheek against mine, and it moves me beyond understanding.

“I do not wish to delay further.”

I nod, a slight shift of my face against his as I don't trust myself not to say the wrong thing and fuck up an unforgettable moment. But he lifts his head to gaze down at me and it feels like he's waiting for me to speak.

“I'm ready when you are.”

“I recall the creation of my former mating bond, and believe there is little purpose in our duplicating the more ritualistic aspects of the event.” He notices I've stiffened against him. “Do you disagree?”

“Your former what?”

“Mating bond.”

“You've done this before?”

“I have.”

“Who with? What, you're divorced? You'd better be divorced.” I was never any good at sharing. This is fast becoming unforgettable for the wrong reason.

“No, I am not divorced. There is no direct equivalent, but in human terms I am widowed.”

“Oh. I didn't know.” Widowed? Spock was married? He's widowed. How did I not know that? “Fuck, Spock, I'm sorry. Was it when Nero – ”

“Yes, and I do not think that you understand.” His fingers slide up along my spine and shoulders, up further along my neck to stroke along the outer shell of my ear, his eyes following their path. “Vulcans are habitually pair-bonded as children so they will be naturally drawn to the other when the blood fever first begins to burn. I was bonded to a female I knew only as a child. I had no personal affection for her, but I understand that she had grown to become an accomplished adult, trusted with a position of authority within her family. The severance of our bond was a telepathic wound I have long since recovered from.”

“You didn't love her?”

“I did not. I did not know her beyond that which I sensed through the bond between us, which was not one of notable strength. She had become a distant memory.” His fingertips glide along my jaw and I start to feel guilty for the rush of anger and jealously that he must have sensed from me, skin to skin as we are. “I know you. I love you.”

“Sometimes I'm not sure I know you at all.” Spock's fingers pause in stroking up my face and I press into them to reassure him, tugging at his hip to pull him closer. “But I'll have a lifetime to figure it out. It's time.” 

The stretch of his hand across my cheek is familiar, and not, because it's him and he's different. My pulse picks up and I swallow on a dry throat as his fingertips press into my skin. It feels as if my heart's beating against each point of contact and I mutter half-remembered words along with him, _My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts_ . . .

It's not as instant as I recall, a slower fade as my physical self retreats and Spock's everywhere, images flashing past me of shared times and memories of his that I'm not familiar with, a whirl of color, thought and emotion with Spock's presence all around me, unseen but as solid as I know his body is against mine. It's his scent, the texture of his skin, the timbre of his voice. Everything I know and adore, and it's wrapped around me. He's the air I'm breathing.

Then something releases, a dam busting open as Spock relaxes into the meld and love hits me, one that equals mine, possessive and fierce, burning brighter than a new star. It's intoxicating and it feels like I'm laughing, echoes of it racing around and becoming part of this . . . whatever this is. Wherever.

_It is our minds interlaced, the point of convergence. It is union._

It's not the fractured, echoing whisper of his counterpart and I can hear my heartbeat beneath it, his own racing at dizzying speed in accordance, and now a sinuous thread of – 

_You can't still be jealous of his meld with me. Get over it. What is, is, as some smug bastard chooses to remind me on a regular basis._

The recognizable warmth of his humor mellows it instantly, but it doesn't disappear. 

_His katra is the twin of my own. That he would have been drawn to the pull of your mind is undeniable, the fact of which we, he and I, are both aware. His trespass affronts me._

Funny that I'd never thought about it until now. _You think he and his Jim ever . . . ?_

_I am certain of it, as I am certain he grieves your loss, a wound that can never heal._

The images flashing around us are darker now, my bruised body lying in a biobed with Bones bending over me, a fist from an angry Antaran breaking my jaw in a space dock bar, a gaping slash across my chest growing wet and dark with blood, my emaciated frame huddled in sweats and a t-shirt after Ping. Spock's fear for me, his recognition of my comparative fragility and his respect for my determination to overcome it. 

_I get it. We're bonded now just so you can guilt-trip me into being more cautious._

_We are not yet bonded. Parted and never parting, never and always touching and touched. I await you._

_I'm right here. I don't think I know how to do this._

But I do. I'm not sure how, but I do it instantly I've finished the thought and it seems to only take a second. I instinctively concentrate on matching his love with an affirmation of my own, opening myself to it and to him without hesitation, the images around us dissolving into an inky fog the color of his eyes. The syncopation of our heartbeats grows louder, reverberating and growing in strength until they throb through me like a fetus surrounded by the constant pulse of its mother's heart. And it's ecstatic, climactic, any sense of self I retained blown apart and it feels like I'm coming, or that we are, no longer separate. Never and always touching and touched, and it's _beautiful_ , a sublime height that sustains beyond belief . . .

I sense his fingers slipping from my face at the same moment his mind begins to retreat from mine, and I catch my breath on a sob as reality reasserts itself. I'm shivering, covered with a light sweat, the pillow under my head soaked through with tears and my stomach splattered with both my cum and Spock's. I open my eyes, then open them wider as I stare into his and realize that I can feel him, a thread of awareness, a repetition of that sustained note.

“I feel it. I can feel you. Fuck. That's new.”

I grin and see it reflected in him as he senses that I'm beginning to figure out that this is perfection. 

“It is incomparable. I am . . .” 

“Speechless? Something that's also new.” 

I close my eyes and the feel of him grows stronger, retreating to a low hum of warmth as I open them again because I need to look at him. I never want to stop. He touches my face in amazement, his fingers grazing the meld points. 

“I suspected that any bond between us would be unusually strong, but I did not anticipate that our compatibility could lead us to this depth of connection.”

“This isn't normal? Because it's great, a piece of you in the back of my mind for always.” I tweak his nose, watching his eyes soften and smile at me. “It'll be like carrying a little Spock around in my pocket.”

“A curious metaphor. You want to have me in your pocket?”

Fuck. I react instantly whenever his voice drops like that, a hint of suggestion to it that tightens my nuts and makes my butthole clench hungrily, my dick beginning to perk up over my messy stomach where he's still hard. But my arousal's different this time because I can feel his rising in tandem with it, a hot, thrumming thread of lust that flares as I lick my lips, his eyes narrowing as he focuses on my tongue.

“My pocket would very much like to have my bondmate in it.” Interesting how much of a turn-on it is to finally call him that, his own reaction burning into me and hardening my dick further.

“Then your bondmate does not intend to disappoint.” His skin slides against mine as he moves, rising up over me, kissing my neck, his lips brushing my collar bone, the center of my chest. “Your physical recovery has been of an impressive rate.”

“Pizza and beer. It's a cure-all.”

I shift under him, Spock's body settling over mine as his hands stroke down my sides, his head ducking down further to kiss my nipple. “I have noted that your right hip and thigh appear to have suffered additional injury.”

“I fell off the roof.” He looks up at me, his bangs falling down into place as he purses his lips in silent question. “It's how I bust my ankle. It's only bruises. Broke my foot, though.”

A kiss at the base of my ribs as a sense of his amused acceptance warms me through, his chest hair brushing my dick as I moan and close my eyes. “I wonder if there is any environment in which you are able to safely exist.”

“Can't make Bones' life too easy. You know how he's a bitch when he's bored.”

Then his tongue dips into my belly button as he starts to lap the cum off my stomach, and thoughts of Bones or my aching ankle are gone, nothing else existing but the rough touch of Spock's tongue as he cleans me off, his breath gusting against my skin, his cock hard and wet against my knee. I comb through the fine silk of his hair with my fingers, cursing as his lips fasten over the tip of my dick to suckle softly, his mouth gentle along the length of my dick and down to kiss my balls, his nose nuzzling into my bush. I start to spread my legs but his hands stop me, his voice vibrating through my groin as he growls _'Turn onto your stomach'_ against my nutsack.

“Ow. Ooh, fuck. Shit.” I manage to kick my ankle against his leg in my hurry to obey and he gives me a long-suffering look from under his bangs. I'm going to have to teach him to eye-roll one of these days. “Don't give me that look. It hurt.”

“I will attempt to provide a distraction from your discomfort.”

“I don't know, it's pretty painful.” I settle onto my front and Spock starts kissing my shoulders and down my spine. “You'll have to work at it.”

“Understood.”

It feels like I've been waiting for this since the first moment I saw him. He presses his mouth to each of my asscheeks, then nips one with sharp teeth, a fresh flood of humor and arousal pouring into me through the link between us as I curse and twitch beneath him. Then his hands mold to my ass, digging into my flesh and spreading my cheeks and I moan, knowing he's looking down at my asshole and how tightly it's clenching in anticipation. I arch my back in invitation, pushing my legs apart to give him better access, a shiver of heat passing through me as I first feel his breath against my pucker.

A kiss first, sweet and almost courtly as I groan loud and hump against the bed, needing more. Then his tongue's on me, rough and dry, a heavy rasp as I cry out and grab at the bedsheet. My arousal's a sharp, living thing in me now, winding my gut tighter as he laps at my asshole, my dick throbbing against the bed with each harsh swipe, his fingers strong on my ass keeping me spread wide beneath his mouth. He starts to purr into my ass and, damn him, I'm going to come soon if he keeps at this, my butthole spasming against his tongue as his purr resonates up through my nuts. I'm pleading with him mindlessly, whimpering helplessly into the pillow, _'Fuck me, Spock, come on, fuck me, don't make me shoot like this . . .'_ One more kiss and his mouth leaves me, a fingertip rubbing over my asshole as he shifts to sit between my legs.

“Lotion's in the nightstand, it's all I've got here.”

“There is no need.”

“Uh, sure there is.” I look back at him with a frown because I don't want him getting any ideas about a spitfuck, and just about lose my mind as I watch him stroking his dick, sliding his fingers over the flared tip to wipe up some of the copious pre-cum that's pouring out of him. “Damn, you look good doing that. Is it going to be enough?”

“Trust me with your wellbeing, t'hy'la. I will not harm you.”

Then his fingers are back on me, smearing his slick pre-cum over my hole and I moan again, burying my head in the pillow as he pushes one finger into my ass. I'm so turned-on I'm more than ready for it, grunting _'More'_ into the bed and pushing my hips back. It's more of a stretch as he pushes another in alongside the first, my ass opening up to him as his long fingers stroke up inside of me, my asshole gripping his knuckles tight. The stretch burns but I need more still, humping back onto his hand, too aroused to wait. The ache spreads throughout my nuts, making my dick leak against the bed, and a third finger pressed inside me makes me almost howl with want into the pillow.

“Dammit, Spock! Fuck me already, you're driving me crazy. Your cock. I want your cock. Now.”

“When you are fully prepared.”

“No, now. I mean it. You're not going to kill me with your dick. Trust me, I can take a little pain.” His fingers bump over my g-spot and I go rigid against the bed, gasping. “Shit! But not too much of that, or I'll come and I'll never forgive you if I come now without you in me. Give me you.”

 _'You have me.'_ Spock mutters it into me ear as he withdraws his fingers slowly and covers my back with his body, his teeth nipping at my earlobe and neck as he starts to fuck between my asscheeks with his cock. He's so thick and heavy, soaking wet and coating me with his pre-cum and I writhe back against him, turning to catch his mouth in a kiss as the tip of his dick rubs over my pucker. I'm trying to back onto him like some bitch on heat, whining in frustration as his raging want pours into me through the bond. 

I'm awed for a second at his control, how he holds back and keeps getting me ready instead of plunging deep inside and fucking me raw how I can feel he needs to. I doubt I'll be anything like as considerate the first time I'm preparing to fuck him and I rub back against him, his chest so strong and fuzzed at my back, his hair soft at my ear. This isn't just some first fuck. This is so much more. I crane my head back, turning to find his jaw to kiss, his neck, his ear.

“Make love to me.”

He tilts his head to look into my eyes, his hips stilling, his dick throbbing hard and warm against my asshole. “Always.” 

The first press in seems impossible and I screw my eyes closed tight, gritting my teeth and pushing out against him. I've never been with anyone this big and it's a struggle, my thighs shaking as I force myself not to clamp down against him, waiting and barely breathing as the heavy flare of his tip slowly shoves into my ass. Then I feel him breach my ring and my asshole clamps down hard, the ache growing to spread over my ass, up my spine, into my dick as he pushes in deeper. I moan and push out again, encouraging him to seat himself deeper still as Spock continues to fuck down into me with a cock that feels about the size of a baseball bat right now. The bruise on my right hip smarts as his hands grip me tighter and then, with one final slow thrust, he's fully seated, his silky bush tickling my buttcheeks as he flexes inside me.

“Don't wait.” 

It's a cracked whisper followed by a hiss as he pulls out of me an inch, my asshole burning as it grips him tightly, not wanting to let go. Then he fucks back into me, slow at first, his second thrust deeper, the ache turning molten as my muscles start to relax and welcome him in. I lift my hips up and start to push back at him in time with the pump of his hips and he growls, his hand stroking up my spine as he grips my hip with the other and starts to fuck me harder and faster. I can't stop cursing, already getting loud, unable to let go of the bed to jack off because all I want to do is bounce back onto him, forcing him deeper, my ass on fire and my dick soaking my stomach as he fucks me hard into the mattress. 

I'm submitting to the fuck of my life, Spock slamming into me hard and fast as the grunts and growls pouring out of his chest vibrate against my back, when strong hands wrap themselves around my torso and pull me up to lean back against his chest. He keeps fucking into me hard, my dick bouncing in front of me as I turn enough to open my mouth for him, his tongue thrusting into my mouth possessively as his hand strokes up my chest and neck to find my face. I'm begging for it, pleading, grinding my hips back and whimpering as the ridges and flare of his dick jab at my prostate with each stroke, and I'm so close now that it feels like I might be able to shoot from this alone. 

He starts to jack my cock at the same time the fingers of his other hand stretch to span my face and I can feel my climax coming on, every muscle tightening to the point of pain, my butthole clenching on him hard as his fingertips press into my face. I open my mouth to shout, gasping, but then he's in my mind and I'm swept up in the violent, turbulent inferno of a Vulcan lust at full strength, a need more intense than anything I've ever experienced. It's an auto-da-fé, a sacrificial burning and I can feel through him as my hole begins to spasm around him, my orgasm roaring through me like a forest fire as his cock swells deep inside my gut and begins to fill me with his cum. I can feel his teeth at my neck, his hand milking me hard, a boiling, dominate satisfaction at mating me prolonging my climax to the point where I can't tell what I'm feeling any more, my own spurts of cum over his fingers or those he's pumping into my body. 

Emotion floods into me, his emotions, possessiveness, love, gratitude. Relief, more than anything, something I don't understand. His hips are stilled, his pelvis cradling mine as I sit back against him and feel his arms go around me as his fingers slip from my face. We're back in my room, back on the bed, my legs, asshole and stomach clenching irregularly with tremors, his dick beginning to soften inside me. Spock holds me to him gently, his mouth at the back of my neck, his forehead against my crown as I gasp for breath and try to remember my own name.

“Ashayam.” He squeezes me tight, his head rubbing between my shoulders. “Half of my heart and soul.”

I've collapsed down, taking him with me. Spock noses into my neck, kissing and nuzzling over what feels like one hell of a hickey, and my words are a sleepy mumble, muffled into the pillow I'm not moving out of for the next ten hours or so. 

“Mmm, that's nice. I never knew Vulcanir was so mushily illogical. What's the other thing you keep calling me?”

“T'hy'la.”

A finger strokes behind my ear as his other hand wipes me down. I'm drifting, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Spock settles into the bed beside me, pulling my leg over his as I grunt at him because nobody needs to move me right now. Stillness is good. Stillness and sleep. Maybe an ice pack for one area in particular.

“Thanks. I'll bet that's Vulcan for Sugar Tush.”

“It is not, and the absolute logic of expressing adoration to one to whom you are physically bound is indisputable.”

The bed's a upward thermal and I'm floating away, sprawled over his chest as Spock strokes up and down over my back. “Keep screwing me that thoroughly and we're all good whatever you call me.”

This feels incredible, afterglow cubed, Spock's satisfaction and love snaking around my veins, a whisper of concern as he threads his fingers through my hair like he can't stop petting on me. I sigh, cracking open an eye to squint at him. “What?”

“It can wait. Sleep.”

“No, it can't.” I prop my chin on a hand splayed over his chest, not bothering to cover a yawn. “Spill. Quickly, energy reserves are fading.”

“My attentions, and therefore controls, were so focused on our bonding and subsequent mating that I only now realize that I have not inquired after your mental health.” His mouth twists ruefully. “Perhaps not a positive omen of my likely spousal aptitude.”

“Spock, I didn't ask a single thing about your wellbeing. I didn't even ask what the hell you're doing here and who's looking after my ship.” I nuzzle back into his chest, closing my eyes. “I think most people are going to agree you got the sticky end of the stick. Don't worry about it.”

“But I must ask – Have you found your path?”

Spock's voice is so gentle, a touch of sweetness that breaks my heart. I'm bonded to someone that can screw me through the bedboards then ask about how crazy I'm feeling, and treat one as seriously as the other without a second thought. I hug into him for a second, overcome with how indebted I am to the universe for sending me someone like him. Then I move to kiss him, my nose against his, his mouth firm beneath mine, our bond thickening the air between us until it feels like I could sense his heartbeat from a mile away. Then I break the kiss, leaning my head against his.

“Jim? Was I incorrect to inquire?”

“No, not at all. Did I find my path?” I rub over his mouth with my thumb and look down into eyes like a black hole that's pulling me into infinity. “Yeah. I'm looking at it.”


End file.
